Patch It With A Lie.

They come and go like a game of catch
between water and sand.
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They don’t cheat because you’re not enough, they cheat because they aren’t. They don’t have the ability to love you day to night. They don’t have the confidence to see what they want in your eyes, so they come and go like a game of catch between water and sand.

You’ll see their lips moving as they patch it with a lie.
They’ll blindfold you with love, fault you for the betrayal.

We have to stop blaming ourselves for someone elses wrongs. We have to realize we don’t deserve the hurt we’ve been assigned the way we deserve the life we get cheated out of, when we get cheated on.

Clouds Beneath My Feet.

So you’ll leave because you can’t stand
breaking my heart like the ones who stay.
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You’ll bite your lip and smile, muttering “that’s my girl”, beneath the rasp of your voice. You’ll text me until I fall asleep, figuring out the sticks and stones I’m made of.

I’ll start to fill with hopeless emotions, making breakfast in the comfort of your big, flannel shirt. I’ll show up with a naked face and send careless texts of the pizza I ate for lunch.

I’ll take steps towards you with clouds beneath my feet.

To be with a girl that’s comfortable is to be standing at the edge of a cliff, having the power to push her off with the mere air in your words. Some guys will let her climb down while the ones free of guilt will push her, with no intention of being at the bottom.

And so, you’ll leave, because you can’t stand breaking my heart like the ones who stay.

The Strangers.

Finally I accept that the strangers in the streets can’t compete with the stranger of who I am, just as the monsters inside my closet are nothing compared to the monsters in my head. youngandtwenty.com

I still fiddle with the locks and check that every window’s closed shut. I tuck a blanket beneath my body and lie in bed with comfort, knowing my feet are protected from harm. My eyes scan the dark room as I search for shadows within my closet and I get chills down my spine when I sense the eerie presence that comes around at night.

I close my eyes and roll into the space where you use to fit. Where in your arms I felt safe and protected. Where the warmth of your body silenced all that was wrong.

I toss and I turn ’till the early dark hours, until finally I accept that the strangers in the streets can’t compete with the stranger of who I am, just as the monsters in my closet are nothing compared to the monsters in my head.

Empty Words.

Our conversations are full of empty words.youngandtwenty.com

 It’ll be a simple, straight forward text,  what’s up?

My thumb will hover over the letters on the keyboard, aching to tell you about my insecurities, my deepest fears, my over-ambitious goals. I’ll backspace the lines I wrote, flustered about the things that keep me up at night and my fear for what’s to come. I’ll wish I could tell you about the music I play on repeat, the poetry I recite in my mind, the things that make me cry, every time I watch the news.

Instead, our conversations are full of empty words. They’ll keep us from growing and they’ll keeping us from caring but not differently will my stomach will toss and turn as I take a deep breath and respond, not much, you?

The Wish for One More Chance.

You continue to look his way. You disregard the eyes of affection,
the genuine people who come up. The ones who can rewrite your pain.
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 Heartbreak is the sorrow of a lonely bird. The crumbling of an expired cake. The nostalgia of a top-40 song. It’s the disbelief, the regret, the wish for once more chance. It’s the unchangeable mind that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

But how many times can you let the same person defeat you? You sacrifice your self-worth because you settle, and you accept. You continue to look his way. You disregard the eyes of affection, the genuine people who come up. The ones who can rewrite your pain.

They’re begging for your time and attention like you’re begging for his. 

Stigma in Being Single.

Why isn’t it okay to be alone when in fact, the loneliest lonely can be found in someone’s arms.
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Love is rarely right the first time. A statement we chose to ignore yet a statement we chose to challenge. It’s a cruel concept. It’s cruel to define life as an ongoing struggle of finding someone who loves you, for you. It’s even harder when you’re different. When your weaknesses are harder to turn a blind eye to. When you don’t even love yourself.

You don’t need to be held when you cry. You don’t need someone to blanket you with concern. It’s the stigma in being single. People can’t understand how you can want to be alone. How you can live day after day without a good morning kiss or year after year without a Valentine’s date.

They tell us our lives have voids, but they can’t tell us what makes theirs different, and so we wonder, why it isn’t okay to be alone when in fact, the loneliest lonely can be found in someone’s arms.

Sometimes Love Comes Back.

Love is when they forgive who you were in order to love who you are.youngandtwenty.com

The hardest part about loving someone is that when they’re packing their boxes, you’re forced to pack your own. We hate when people change our plans. When life is taken from our control. When walking away is all there’s left to do.

But sometimes people turn around. Sometimes love comes back, and this time you’ll hold them tighter. You’ll listen longer. You’ll love them better. Love is many things. It’s flawed in many forms. But love is when they forgive who you were in order to love who you are.

This Time Could Be Different.

You run from the possibility that this time could be different.youngandtwenty.com

You wait for someone to come into your life and tell you you’re perfect. Tell you they can’t live without you; you’re always on their mind. But when those feelings are foreign and you hear them with a meaningless ring, you panic.

You can’t believe someone’s pushing your hair back to better look into your eyes. You can’t believe they’re holding your hand, despite your nail biting habit and horribly dry skin. You can’t believe they sacrificed their Saturday night to find the shiny pieces of your shattered self. You can’t believe it, so you don’t. You run from the possibility that this time could be different.

I Would Blame You.

I would blame you because I could forgive you before I ever forgave myself.
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I wish I could blame you for the mess I’ve become. I would blame you for the times I laid on my cold, wooden floors. Curled in a ball with crippling thoughts. I would blame you for the nine a.m’s you made me miss, the days in bed you made me have. For the hours spent wishing I was someone else.

I would blame you for the times I believed your lies. The times you pulled me close and kissed my forehead, promising a future in us. For showing me a sadness I didn’t know possible. A sadness I didn’t know how to survive.

I would blame you because I could forgive you before I ever forgave myself.

Because Of You.

It’s bittersweet getting through something
with the very person who put you through it.
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Sometimes I like that I believed your lies because it meant I thought the best of you. Sometimes I like how hard I tried to make things work, because it meant I was open to the idea of you. Sometimes I like the times things went wrong, because it meant I was willing to fight for you.

It’s bittersweet getting through something with the very person who put you though it, but I’m so glad I did because it meant life hasn’t yet, made me cold to the idea of love. And that’s because of you.