Sometimes I wonder if he knows if he is dating a broken girl. I only call myself broken because I am constantly losing pieces of myself and never truly finding them. The other day, I was content to let this despair consume me. I was ready to relinquish this suffering. I’ve never been more disgusted with myself than I was staring at myself in the vanity mirror of my mother’s room.
I have no right to feel this way.
I haven’t endured true conflict, but yet I was so ready to let go. Then I turned around, got ready, and left with him. Being with him feels so good, like I’ll never be lonely again. Then the good feelings turned to guilt and I poured my heart out and laid it in front of him.
I’ve never had somebody hold me so tightly that I felt I might be whole again, someday. He loves me. True, unfettered love not impacted by my past. I do not deserve this, but I will keep selfishly drinking from his cup until he figures out the fraud I am. I am just a sad and lonely girl at the heart of things, undeserving of his goodness, but I want it so bad. When he looks at me, I hide the pain inside of me as deep as I can so he doesn’t have to see it. If he knew how bad things really have been, I’m afraid that he would run very far away, despite the love I know he has for me.
Maybe if I let him in more, things would get better. Maybe.