An open letter to the broken boy who broke me,
I watch you walk away from me. I look at your back, the shape of your head, and memorize it. I suddenly think how awful it would be to hurt you. I’ve always thought of others before myself, you knew that. But somehow, with you, just the mere thought of leaving is unbearable. And that is how I know that I do love you. It is why I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to do this, how to feel, what to do. Why I cannot figure out how a person can love you yet hurt you at the same time and be so unaware that he’s doing it.
People say it isn’t healthy that my reason for not leaving you is just because I don’t wanna hurt you. They say it isn’t love. I disagree. I hurt when you hurt, when I see your lips pursed trying to stop them trembling, to see your eyes shine with unshed tears, your tongue forming words it cannot say. It is debilitating. Isn’t that love? And say it isn’t, is that so bad?
For two years, I have tried to mold my life around yours, so it can accomodate me. I thought I’ve accepted that I will never be one of your topmost priorities. Because haven’t I always done that, in all aspects of my life? I’d always thought I shouldn’t ask too much of people. I thought was a nuisance. That I should just be a shrub in the never-ending garden of their lives: solid, constant and unobtrusive. I thought that was the way to be. I thought I should never ask and expect too much from people; I don’t know if its because so I wouldn’t be disappointed or so they wouldn’t be disappointed in me. God, how wrong I was. How wrong I have always been.
They say all things happen for a reason. And things did happen, things that made me realize that I don’t want to be just an accomodation in your life. In anyones life. I don’t want to be the girl who was just there. Who chose you, so you chose her back.
You said you love me and you want to take care of me, and I believe that. But I don’t think its love when you can only take care of someone only where it was easy and ‘convenient’ as you put it. I don’t want to be a convenience. I want to be the prize. I want to be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the princess behind the thorns. And as Blair Waldorf said, be the destination, not just the journey. I want to be loved as I am, in my life, in all corners of it, and not because I molded mine around another’s.
Most of all, I want to love myself. I’ve prided myself that whenever I loved, I’ve always given my all, as I have done countless times. But for some reason, I always end up hurt. I try and I try, but in the end, it never mattered. Because my heart has gone weary, and the love in it cannot mask the scars that have opened, that have become fresh wounds again.
You are broken and you cannot love yourself and that is why you cannot love me fully and wholeheartedly, as I have loved you. I never want to give up on people, but I don’t know if I can live with that.
My heart, once again, is tired and broken. From loving more of you and less of myself. So you have broken me, but I know now what can change that. I need to love myself. I need to learn how to love, yet keep a part of my heart to myself. A part that can never be irreparably broken.
And I hope you do, too.
Francia
as told by francia 