It’s not you, it’s me.

5 Jul

It’s not you it’s me.

It’s not who you are. It’s not your sweetness or your intelligence, or your sensitivity. It’s not your looks, or how good you are in bed. It’s not your gorgeous red curls. It’s not your naive perspective of life. It’s not your ideology. It’s not your crushing arms and the way they used to hold me. It’s not the way you started it. It’s not the way you ended it. It’s not your response to my text telling me to let go.

It’s not you, it’s me. It’s my self doubts. It’s my need of affirmation. It’s my yearning for affection. It’s my loneliness. It’s my childishness. It’s my motherhood. It’s my horniness. It’s how I interpreted your love for me as proof of my worth.

It’s not how you kissed my shoulder, it’s how my shoulder met your lips. It’s not how your lashes fluttered over your big brown eyes, it’s how I looked into those eyes and saw myself reflected in them, it’s not how you loved me, it’s how badly I needed to be loved.

It’s not you, it’s me. It’s not your goodbye, it’s my fear of letting you go, in case I never find anyone who can see me again, love me for who I am, simply, wholy.



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