Lotus

by Jennifer Hartmann

Maybe my expectations live between the pages of books involving heroes with ten-inch schlongs and magical tongues, performing grandeur gestures to sweep their heroines off their feet.

“Because we’re a fucked-up, complicated species prone to self-sabotage, baseless insecurities, and the notion that there’s always something better around the corner. We’re constantly chasing imaginary destinations, thinking we’re missing out, wanting more. We’re never truly present.”

All these years, I’ve never given my heart to anyone. I told myself it was because I was too picky, too independent, my standards were too high…but that’s not the truth. The truth is, I didn’t have a heart to give. My heart was with a ghost.

“I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding on to your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.”

I used to think strength was rooted in the fight. Prevailing. Surviving the things determined to tear us down. But true strength isn’t necessarily overcoming the fight—it is how we fight. It is not within the sword itself, but in how we wield it. And sometimes, it’s not about survival at all. It’s about living through the worst possible loss, heartache and pain, regardless of whether or not we make it to the other side.