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In a world short of love, I had to be wanted. I was wanted. I felt wanted. Never loved, no. But I was wanted.
It was weird, this growing fixation with a man I’d known for two weeks. I didn’t have his number. I knew nothing about him. Everything that intrigued me was conjured up by the assumptions I made in my head.
Maybe I fell in love with the potential of people, not who they really were.
Pain became happiness. Happiness became pain. Pain became comfort, and that comfort was bliss.
You value love over everything, even in the absence of it.” Even in the absence of it.
“Good enough to fuck,” I stated. “Not good enough to love,” I accepted.
That was also the moment I realized how little of myself I had left, when I was trying to please everyone else.
“It’s never the people I want in my life that come around. I feel like I’m waiting for someone to understand me, and no one ever does.”
I’m the one who notices everything. I’m the one who pays attention. No one had ever paid attention to me before. Not like this. Not ever.
You could be the greatest person, perform the grandest gestures, but if that someone never valued the love you showed them in the first place, they never would.
The pressure I carried to be the girl he wanted was overwhelming and unattainable. I’d broken every part of me trying to fit into that pretty, perfect mould. I’d lost sight of who I was just so he could glance in my direction for one second – because that one second was my heroin. And he watched me overdose.
It was exhausting to chase after someone who never wanted you from the start. It was even more exhausting to pretend that there was a chance in hell you could change their mind.
“Honestly Jace . . . ” How real was I getting? Screw it. “You fucked me over,” I started, bleeding into the pain I felt for months. “You fucked me up. And yet, you come back every time. Why? Why do you insist on doing this to me?” His response may have been the most honest thing he’s ever said, and that terrified me. In one breath, he shattered my soul. “You let me.”
We finished quicker than we started. We barely got time to explore what we could become.
By begging for a man who couldn’t be what I needed, I devalued my worth, my self-respect.
Because where I carried clouds and wind and precipitation, he carried the sun, the stars and the sky. Yeah, that’s what he was. My sun. And I was his rain. I was his fucking rain.
He never did anything with me as the primary focus. I was never a priority, never first. I satisfied him, but I was never enough to fulfill him.
The right person would have never given me those doubts to begin with. The right person would have danced with me in a sea of stars or burning lava. The point is – They would have danced.
Remember that you are all the muse to someone’s story . . . Mine. Always remember to find love within yourself, even if you feel unlovable. That is your greatest strength.
