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@therelationshipdiaries
love yourself
and love will find you.
You betrayed me, and you lied continuously. Why do I still think about you?I guess a part of me wonders why you did what you did, and if you regret it at all. I know you’ve thought about it, and wondered yet still less than 50 miles away and nothing. It’s a game to you, but in the end i’m the one who wins. I wonder how lonely your nights get, and if they’re as empty as mine. My nights are getting a little less lonely, filled with new people and new boys. It’s not something I want to be doing, but it’s a better distraction than thinking about you. I don’t understand why I’m the one left caring. I wonder if it’s something about this human wifi, and you think about me every time I think about you. I wonder who you are sometimes, who you’ve become, and who you’re turning into. I know you’re not as happy as you seem, how you put on this facade for a reaction from me. It makes me sad for you that you’re unwilling to grow up, but I know that you will in time. Sometimes I hate time, and wish that things would have been different. Sometimes I wish we had that perfect timing, that you were the right one instead of the right now. I hate that I still love who I thought you were. I hate that you lied and convinced me you were someone you weren’t. I don’t think of you much anymore, but when I do all I feel is sadness, disappointment, betrayal, and hurt.
...
J,
I burned your letters today. I’d kept them around for such a long time because I wasn’t ready to let the what if’s go. I wasn’t ready to let you go, but piece by piece I find myself releasing you again--but actually doing so this time. I burned the journal I had written for you that I wanted to give you someday, and thought maybe you would’ve liked that. I Burned every single memory we made. Every thought I wanted to be reality. I wanted you so badly, even though ultimately you would have killed me. Two years, maybe they would have been good for a while, but eventually I would have wondered what I wasted my time for. You taught me more than I could have ever hoped for and for that I don’t regret any moment of loving you. It hurts knowing as soon as I stop wanting you, you’ll be back but for you it was all a cat and mouse game. I think that’s what hurts the most, giving pure love only to be misused because of my own personal insecurities. I choose myself over the reality of what would be.
So, do it. Decide. Is this the life you want to live? Is this the person you want to love? Is this the best you can be? Can you be stronger? Kinder? More compassionate? Decide. Breathe in. Breathe out and decide.
Meredith Grey (via purplebuddhaproject)
But darling, someday someone is going to love you like you loved him.
B.L letters I never sent (via im-sad-lets-have-sex)
C
You made me look past the moon at night, and take in all of the stars. My universe shifted when you came into orbit. I didn’t want you at first, and outright rejected you, which perhaps made you try even harder. You made the pain of my last love float, buzzing away into the distance. Only to be brought back once I fell asleep snoring on the phone. I realized that I only really started wanting to love you when you pulled away, but I knew immediately that the feeling of love was there. I know that life is good, and when you start trying to enjoy it again more good things happen. More love relationships manifest into my reality.
As women, when we’re children we’re taught to enter the world with big hearts. Blooming hearts. Hearts bigger than our damn fists. We are taught to forgive - constantly - as opposed to what young boys are taught: Revenge, to get ‘even.’ Our empathy is constantly made appeals to, often demanded for. If we refuse to show kindness, we are reprimanded. We are not good women if we do not crush our bones to make more space for the world, if we do not spread our entire skin over rocks for others to tread on, if we do not kill ourselves in every meaning of the word in the process of making it cozy for everyone else. It is the heat generated by the burning of our bodies with which the world keeps warm. We are taught to sacrifice so much for so little. This is the general principle all over the world. By the time we are young women, we are tired. Most of us are drained. Some of us enter a lock of silence because of that lethargy. Some of us lash out. When I think of that big, blooming heart we once had, it looks shriveled and worn out now. When I was teaching, I had a young student named Mariam. She was only 11 years old. Some boy pushed her around in class, called her names, broke her spirit for the day. We were sitting under a chestnut tree on a field trip and she asked me if a boy ever hurt me. I told her many did and I destroyed them one by one. I think that’s the first time she ever heard the word ‘destroyed.’ We rarely teach our girls to fight back for the right reasons. Take up more space as a woman. Take up more time. Take your time. You are taught to hide, censor, move about without messing up decorum for a man’s comfort. Whether it’s said or not, you’re taught balance. Forget that. Displease. Disappoint. Destroy. Be loud, be righteous, be messy. Mess up and it’s fine – you are learning to unlearn. Do not see yourself like glass. Like you could get dirty and clean. You are flesh. You are not constant. You change. Society teaches women to maintain balance and that robs us of our volatility. Our mercurial hearts. Calm and chaos. Love only when needed; preserve otherwise. Do not be a moth near the light; be the light itself. Do not let a man’s ocean-big ego swallow you up. Know what you want. Ask yourself first. Decide your own pace. Decide your own path. Be cruel when needed. Be gentle only when needed. Collapse and then re-construct. When someone says you are being obscene, say yes I am. When they say you are being wrong, say yes I am. When they say you are being selfish, say yes I am. Why shouldn’t I be? How do you expect a woman to stand on her two feet if you keep striking her at the ankles. There are multiple lessons we must teach our young girls so that they render themselves their own pillars instead of keeping male approval as the focal point of their lives. It is so important to state your feelings of inconvenience as a woman. We are instructed to tailor ourselves and our discomfort - constantly told that we are ‘whining’ and ‘nagging’ and ‘complaining too much.’ That kind of silence is horribly violent, that kind of insistence upon uniformly nodding in agreement to your own despair, and smiling emptily so no man is ever uncomfortable around us. Male-entitlement dictates a woman’s silence. If we could see the mimetic model of the erasure of a woman’s voice, it would be an incredibly bloody sight. On a breezy July night, my mother and I were sleeping under the open sky. Before dozing off, I told her that I think there is a special place in heaven where all wounded women bury their broken hearts and their hearts grow into trees that only give fruit to the good and poison to the bad. She smiled and said Ameen. Then she closed her eyes.
A Woman of War by Mehreen Kasana (via hawk-heart)