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He would be a part of me. I would be a part of him.
In a world short of love, I had to be wanted. I was wanted. I felt wanted. Never loved, no. But I was wanted.
Sometimes two people, completely opposite and far apart were tied by an invisible chord. No one could see it but the people inside the knot. That knot was too hard to break, so we didn’t break it. We let it tighten around us, we let it shape us, until we morphed into someone new. Someone better. Someone Blu.
“Good enough to fuck,” I stated. “Not good enough to love,” I accepted.
I needed to know that I was worthy of love.
“I feel like I’m waiting for someone to understand me, and no one ever does.”
Tomorrow, I’d be Jace Boland. The man who wished the world would save him.
“You’re worth so much more than you give yourself credit for.”
She loved all the pieces of myself that I hid from the world. She loved me when I didn’t think it was possible. She never made me question if I was worthy of it, because to her, loving me came as easy as breathing.
Love yourself more. As if I didn’t think about all the things I could change about myself – to improve my appearance, my health, my facial texture. That was love. I was trying to fix broken pieces. I loved myself. Love yourself more.
Maybe you really are Spiderman.” “Maybe you can be my Mary Jane.”
Why would I damage my beautiful skin when my heart was already bristled and stone?
Jace Boland was here to stay. And five espresso martinis would never be enough to drown out the war brewing between my head and heart.
When I thought we were making progress, we took two steps back. And the sad truth was, I still felt like I knew nothing about her. Nothing, but everything all at once.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I swore. For the first time, I truly believed it. But sometimes, belief isn’t enough.
This man, smiling beside me, could break my heart any day. And I’d let him. That was the problem.
Wherever his eyes would lead me, storm or shore, I’d follow.
“What are you staring at?” she practically barked. A smile spread across my face. “Something that belongs to me.”
I couldn’t love her. I didn’t know how to love myself.
So many marriages failed because of lazy choices. It was easier to leave than it was to work things out. I wondered sometimes, if I would be the one to exit or the person who would try. Sometimes, I was both of those people – sometimes I was neither.
It was exhausting to chase after someone who never wanted you from the start.
A piece of my heart broke with each word. But he’d been breaking mine for far too long.
I mourned the loss of losing him before he was even gone.
I was the firecracker. He lit the spark. I was the puppet. He was the puppeteer. I was the colour. He was the hue. He was the hue. My fucking hue.
Maybe I was his rainy day. And that hurt. That really fucking hurt. 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.
