A personal expression of the bittersweet feelings of regret, heartache, guilt, loneliness and healing that follows the aftertaste people leave behind. This blog is a reflection of my own growth, intimacy and secret struggles.
Damaged
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Stop letting the people who left your life try to come back, all they're going to do Is hurt the parts they couldn't touch before.
My hands keep trying to grab the empty space where you used to lay. They spread over the cold bedsheet like spindles and needles searching for the missing fabric of your clothes. And I wonder to myself If you were ever real at all. The more I try to remember what you look like, The only thing I see Is the door That you left wide open Behind you.
How is it that i can want something so bad, want it with every bone in my tired body, and yet my hands won't reach out to take it? The need for any sort of resemblance of comfort slips past my clingy arms, and i feel hopelessness bubble in my chest. Uncertainty has become the bed companion in a space that feels so utterly alone. Am i meant to feel empty the rest of my life? Or will i have a stroke of luck that will allow me to have something for once.
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