I know history repeats itself because it always has and it always will.
One of the first real conversations you had with me you said you would hurt me; you said you would destroy my heart. I laughed because I was strong, confident and I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.
But then I fell in love with you and you did. What’s worse is that you didn’t even care that you had. I wasn’t the first and I probably wasn’t the last but it mattered this time because it was my heart. It’s still my heart and the lump in my throat and the tears that blur my vision as I type.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not dramatically breaking into a million little pieces like the way it would in the stories you read. It’s shrinking a little further into the shadows, making it even harder for anyone to truly reach it. Another mark to tarnish it’s once polished red exterior. What’s worse is that you didn’t even care you had.
I never one thought you would be my person, because truly I never wanted you to be, all I wanted to be was a person. Someone to you, anyone to you because being in your light feeling the warmth of your glow was at a time everything to me. But so often I get caught in childish musings and every once in a while the cruel hand of reality pulls me back down to the roots of what is real and what is ideal. And you are neither.