Chëlle

.introverted extrovert .INFJ .Insta: chellelovee

[chellelove]

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There’s a fictional place where I drive to in the middle of the night. After an hour on a long winding road, I park my car into a gated port, step out and tip toe my way to the porch. I ring the door bell and I am met with a smile and an exasperated “I am so happy to see you”.

They let me inside and ask if I would like some water. “Yes”, I reply. I am parched. This drive had me salivating at the idea of what was to come. 

In my awake life, I do not experience these greetings. In an opposite way, I am met with divided attention and eyes that wander away from mine.

Is it bad to want more? Is it bad to dream and be happy that my dream does not include you?

[chellelove]

Erase it. Erase me. Erase what I am & all I hope to be. Don’t ask me a thing. Just let me be silent. Let me be crazy and upside down in my head knowing that when I come back to reality, you will still be there. Look away when I ask you to. These eyes are empty and tired of the things they see. My heart is tough. My mind is stone. My life is heavy.

[chellelove]

You hear me speak the words I’ve been dying to say and I watch you shelter in place.

If I had been given just an afternoon of pillow talk and secret coffee table glances, it might have hurt a little less. Like shards of glass stuck in frozen heels instead of shattered wall length mirrors. It was all bad luck and another seven years is of no fault but my own.

You’d rather change yourself in order to be aesthetically pleasing than teach yourself how to be the opposite of complacent.

[chellelove]

An evening alone with you would cure this ache inside my chest. You have a beautiful madness that, when pressed against my own, can leave me feeling lighter. I admit, your hands are your admission & unlimited euphoria is the ride. We’ll keep spinning for hours and regret not a second lost to the night.

[chellelove]

If she has doubt fueled hesitation, that makes loving her hard, don’t arch your efforts. Since the early days of her knowing what she knew about love, she would see terrible things. Where your fairy tales might have been sprinkled with familiar forevers, hers were drenched in subtle casualties. You were sweet apples and she was bitter oranges. Instead of speaking a language she can’t understand, practice learning the one she knows. Your love’s purpose is not constructive criticism. It lives in a freedom palace, landscaped with the greatest poets’ advice.

[chellelove]

Our tired worlds felt small at first, knowing only what it felt like to stand at the waters edge and watch strangers take risks we were not free enough to take. Their running steps before the jumps played in slow motion when recounting what we saw.

We had only known fearful and cautious tiptoeing. All of it to avoid waves of anger which looked nothing like the sun kissed kind that these beautifully fearless strangers felt against their skin.

What would life had been like if we had run into the unknown sooner? Would you and I have let gravity pull us down or would we have jumped fearlessly past the lines that were drawn to keep us in?

[chellelove]

Your red flags were folded neatly inside the baggage I carried into my life for you. They were hidden well underneath a million layers of hope and hopeless romanticism. You left them behind when you left me no choice but to unpack them.

My memories of you are fading like the red of your forgotten fabric. They got lost in the back of the closet I share with my never-would-have-been-if-you-didn’t-leave person.

I started making room and eventually replaced your red flags with love poems and her collection of anything that isn’t yours.

[chellelove]

It’s hard to believe, but I haven’t always been this way. I haven’t always been focused on the positive. I haven’t always obsessed over kindness and how I’m certain it exists inside of everyone. Even if it’s hiding comfortably underneath horns, I know it’s there.

My adolescence was spent holding hands with negativity and it felt good. Like salt in wounds and paper-cuts. It felt safe. No one could invade your heart to cause damage if you never invited them in.

It could be easily assumed that I haven’t experienced loss, struggle or suffering based on my outlook. I get that. But I have. I really have. I carry them with me every day. Whether they sit in my mind, my memory or my shoulders metaphorically, they’re there and they never go away. And I’m a better person for them. A constant aching reminder of how different I used to be.

I’m an open book but only slightly. You can see numbers on the pages and how each is full of words, but you can never decode the messages hidden within each line. There’s more to me than most care to read. But still, I remain satisfied in knowing people continue to try.

-Michelle M.

[chellelove]

If memories were monetized, I’d be rich in theory. You paid me in currency I couldn’t hold in my hands. I accepted payments I still can’t cash and ask myself why there was never interest.

Stacking thought on thought, I think it holds value. But priceless non physicals are depreciating and I should really stop investing.

[chellelove]

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." - Marianne Williamson

[chellelove]

I used to save numbers in my phone under city names because people can become random faults and fragile hearts.

There’s a sense of permanence otherwise. And temporary placement is all I needed at the time. I’ve said my I’m sorrys enough times to actually mean them. Still, I wonder if it mattered much to them unless I acted like it didn’t to me. It became an escape route for some and an ocean of tears for others. Regardless, I kept on with repeating the false feelings in hopes that one day I wouldn’t have to fake it anymore.

[chellelove]

I have carried conversations on my shrugging shoulders out of a desire to feel accepted in a world that is anything but accepting.

Programmed by nature to pull and break our own branches so nothing else could get to it first. We limit our own growth to water the ego of others and they flourish because of it.

Why has nurturing the seeds of self advancement become a dying root? We have lost the way to its hydration. Instead, we willingly eat from the hands of poison and thank them.

[chellelove]

Remembering you happens when you are remembering me. We have always been connected in that way. Nostalgia is a high I regret later but love when I’m in it.

When my eyes are closed, your smile stays stuck to my subconscious like an etch a sketch I keep trying to shake off.

I question if there’s a deeper meaning behind the link in our capacity and intensity of memory. Maybe I’m thinking too much. Overthinking is a habit that has cost me more than what I’ve ever had to begin with.

But I have to admit, it’s entertaining to have my sentimental feelings construed as orchestrated by fate rather than just coincidence.

[chellelove]

I pretended it didn’t bother me, but my tears gave my camouflage away. Only thing is, you didn’t see it and I feel accomplishment in that.

All my life, I have been here. Just here. Simple and complex as that.  Second choice. Consolation prize. Sexual acquaintance. Afterthought. FriendZone.

No need for the reminder. Although you did. It was dark and it was filled with noise and you made my head spin, which I blamed on the alcohol in my glass. 

The story I wrote of us ended and my heart on fire burned whatever pages we had left.

[chellelove]

I grew up doing little to nothing to gain attention from people. I desired it way more than I liked to admit. I think a part of me believed that if I hoped for it long enough, that it would magically appear on my doorstep in the form of a huge hug and wrap me up in its arms and everything would be great.

Years and years later, and I find myself back there. Hoping and praying for a hug on my doorstep to satisfy my need to feel attended to; wanted; loved. But even with my front door unlocked, there is no one there to offer me what I’m not even asking for.

I feel betrayed. Betrayed by imaginary scenarios I create my damn self. 

I’ll get out of this one day. And people will return to my door, ignore the bell, and find me inside to wrap me up in their arms and everything will be great again.

[chellelove]

TBD

I am simply me, stepping from one day into the next with not so much as a clue about how each new day is going to go.  There are so many inconsistencies that I stopped questioning them.  But you know what remains fixed, without the slightest sway into uncertainty?

You. 

My heart knows all kinds of love. I am learning new ways to care about others. Attraction’s conception comes more from my soul than it does from my eyes so it leaves me feeling this intensity that never really goes away. Because even when I’m sleeping, I can still feel it.

I fear so many things in my life. I'm squinting to see the past but I can still make out the silhouettes whose shadows took away my light. So I fear it coming back and finding their way into this. This being a love I used to dream about that I now know I am worthy of; that I was always worthy of.

However, I am most glad that I was worthy of you. 

Whether it be because of cosmic fate, serendipity or the master plan of God Himself, I know that what we have is intended and one of my most beloved masterpieces.

-Michelle M.

[chellelove]

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I’ve added your silence to my playlist. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat Got any other recommendations?