It’s a couple of hours since you said you were going to the store. When I call I can tell you’ve had more than a few.
We’ve been through it before. It’s nothing new.
When things are too good it scares you. Kind of scares me too. Feels like we’re just waiting for disaster to strike.
But you and I handle it very differently.
I move into it, because I know I can handle the uncertainty. You break it, because atleast then you know the outcome.
Used to think that was all there was to it.
Somehow I didn’t listen. Told myself that I could see past the words and wounds. See who you really were and wanted to be.
But you’d rebel and it would hurt.
Whenever we’d talk about the past you’d joke about the pain. “What happened wasn’t right. But when are you going to forgive yourself?”, I’d ask.
You would just look down, smile and nod. Quickly you’d change the subject and I’d follow along hoping that one day you’d say: “I think it’s time.”
Who would’ve guessed I would be the one saying that?
“I think it’s time”, and I left your stuff outside the door. We didn’t speak for almost 2 years. I really missed you.
I’m so glad we can talk again. Both of us have changed, but you’re still breaking things.
I think I understand a little better now.
As long as things are broken there’s a hope that we can fix them.
When they’re whole it’s hard. Because then we have to look at the things that aren’t.
What about the things that have been broken for a long time? What about the things where the pieces are missing? What if we can’t fix them?
Maybe we can’t.
And maybe that’s ok.
You can still be broken and beautiful.