Unhealed stitches

Twenty-six years old. A long path down from where I started, but as I look out into the narrowing distance I still have a ways to go.


Right now I am broken, the second time this year –and we are only in the third month.


There is an uneasiness we call instinct, and it usually comes when we don’t want it most and it is usually during the time that we are resisting the hardest that the instinct may be correct.


It’s a constant tug-of-war between the hemispheres of the brain –between the logical and the emotional. The battle is dizzying and leaves all of the artifacts laid out in front of me blurred.


I wish I could pull the plug on my emotions, so I don’t have to feel this pang in my heart because the person I love has hurt me and can’t give me an explanation as to why something may look some way but it’s actually not that way.


We lay in a bed of silence and unsteadiness.


I did not see this coming, not when I have finally let my walls down. Let you see my imperfect and trust you to be there “by my side” while I trudge through the marshy-ness of my past.


Instead I am met with the beating anxiety that I person gets when they are lost in the middle of nowhere.


Looking, reaching out for someone –so you are not in that place alone.


I am not fit for you. I am not for you –you say. And then you take it back. You do it. Take it back.


Sow it up, then rip the stiches out long enough…and sowing them will be pointless.

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