Ephemeral...

             In all my love stories, E-N-D has always been the spelling for L-O-V-E. As if I was made to only pine for affection. I met the partner of my dream but they weren’t a dreamer like me. They knew what they needed and it wasn’t a woman like me who carries her vulnerability up her sleeves and her pain in her smile. I have always had a hard time knowing how to cherish the people who were dear to me. Either I hug them too tightly or I push them away too harshly. With me, it’s always a love-hate relationship. 

             Somewhere in me, there is an endless melancholic virus. It keeps me time and time again from embracing the happiness sent to me. I’m still with my hands tied behind my back just to avoid holding back those heartbeats that come my way. Sometimes I’m afraid to look twice at someone who might interest me. What if they see my naked, bruised soul and don’t like it? I wear my personality like armor, but my kindness has always been painted black. 

            All I want is a hammer strong enough to completely destroy all of my hanging walls, those traps around my body from head to toe and that hidden sadness that lives in my fear of knowing that I too am worthy of being loved.