In my bed last night, inches from slumber, I began to cry--huge and heavy, chest-heaving-sort-of-sobs that I barely ever, if ever, experience. And in that very moment all I could think was what's happening? I think you think I want too much. That I demand too much. That I expect too much. No, you’re just enough for me—you’re enough to fill the space of all my wants and need.
Everything makes me cry now-- as in everything, a good TV series (say Nikita), a good book, a simple kindness... I have this feeling that loving me is such a shameful thing and that's a terrible truth to hold. Life has been a little vague and a little fuzzy and quite a bit of leaning into the unknown. I feel a blow that left my heart feeling no longer bruised but bleeding... I am feeling alone. I hate the plane and despise the ocean that separates us.
Please let me feel that I am worthy of love, but thank you anyway for reminding me that this throbbing pain doesn't make me foolish or self-absorbed, but human and marvelously flawed. Yes, I am black-and blue.
hugs,
Ash
Everything makes me cry now-- as in everything, a good TV series (say Nikita), a good book, a simple kindness... I have this feeling that loving me is such a shameful thing and that's a terrible truth to hold. Life has been a little vague and a little fuzzy and quite a bit of leaning into the unknown. I feel a blow that left my heart feeling no longer bruised but bleeding... I am feeling alone. I hate the plane and despise the ocean that separates us.
Please let me feel that I am worthy of love, but thank you anyway for reminding me that this throbbing pain doesn't make me foolish or self-absorbed, but human and marvelously flawed. Yes, I am black-and blue.
hugs,
Ash
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