..
to the little mx who dreamt of undying bouquets
who looked for comfort in bold statements
who anticipated surprises in every box,
every unmarked bag, every sentence
to the little mx who watched couples proclaim “this is my one. they are my only.”
the couples who were “1and2” in conversations; never “1 and 2”
the couples who embodied “if they break up, love isn’t real. relationships are a scam”
to the little mx who chased and chased and chased and chased and chased and chased and chased and
to the little mx who grew up afraid to love.
pinned their heart up on display at a carnival game,
just waiting for someone to play for the big prize
without having to scream for their attention.
to the little mx
who only knew of heartbreak, heartache, and “we’re better off friends”.
who only knew that they would be left behind when a new attraction came.
who only knew they are a fleeting thought, never in their subconscious.
to the little mx,
the sensitive, romantic, obsessive, possessive little mx.
who wanted someone to happily call them theirs; someone to whisper it in their ear; someone to always look for them in the crowd.
to little mx;
you’ve always loved a little harder than others
spread your affection a little louder than others
sang sonnets, wrote novels, painted murals dedicated to your love.
to myself:
as you heal from the trauma, the abandonment, the instability
as you are loved in a way you’ve needed to be
we can be loved in the way we have always wanted to be
and if we cannot
then that’s alright too.
because we will love ourselves
up on that pedestal of rose petals.
