I've fought a few fights. They were neither light nor heavy. There have been struggles, and fights are not cataloging, because no matter how strong you may be to lose something. In many of the battles I have worn I lost things that I grew nicely and carefully. However, the hardest was when I lost myself, because I had the courage to entrust my heart to too harsh hands for how fragile it was.
I'm not sorry because I was courageous and I chose to walk with confidence before, because I firmly know that only what we need and what will help us to empathize with the situation of others will happen to us. So, I do not even regret going away. Like a storm, without letting me know, without kissing me to keep my door open and without waiting to be told that I can come back anytime. I do not want to go back. No, not where I was the last on the list of options. I asked nothing more about people, maybe just the dignity of telling me where there is not enough space to sit down. But there are some who make their heart a waiting room. They let them all climb there and create the illusion that they are still a priority, they sometimes give them a chair, and after some time they give it to someone else.
That was the way she was. A go come, an illusion of love, a scene in which the lie played better than the truth. A simulation that could easily be confused with love. Especially if you wanted to see yourself with the eyes you were watching. Now that I'm so far I can have an overview, because when I was almost seeing my projections in it, not who she really was.
I see her lost and yet with her palms stuck to another's heart. I'd like to think about her. I wish only the good, to enjoy the love that is offered to her, to be happy, but I have come to the point where I am no longer afraid of those I loved. I'm afraid for those who enter the lives of those I loved. Not because they loved me wrong, but because they were so long unloved or loved inappropriately that they can only offer bare hands, broken by the wefts and stiffened by other hearts with corners that would have needed grinding . They do not know to accept being loved ...
So, I'm afraid for him. Joyful, pure, ready to accept anything, to make one with the earth just to show her love. Engaged in a competition of sacrifice and courage. It's like I'm seeing myself in it. I would not want to bear the same wounds in my heart that I too. To make walls around the heart, not to open the door, but to look only from time to time on the viewfinder. How gladly I would love to soak the sun and in her heart to grow flowers because he took the time to wet the seeds. But, how quickly do people who never want to understand that they have to do it change? Not fast enough to prevent the next departure. But for them it is not a problem, they have in the heart a waiting room ....
