I tried to write, but tears fell instead. I am obviously in A Phase, no surprises; growing pains. Lately in my mind, there are so many irreconcilable differences on too many things and so many levels. I secretly wish she would write to me, tell me this is normal… that my unsettled heart will learn to settle in due time. Settle. That it’s okay to carry a handful of questions with no easy answers.
I wish she would tell me that it’s okay, I’m okay, for loving people who… don’t love me in the same way and capacity. It’s okay, I’m okay, for being such a sentimental bunny who grips too tightly and loves too hard. It’s okay to have entrusted my heart, even if it’s only a tiny fraction, to someone – a few someones – who don’t… value that trust and fail to grasp how hard it was, just how much it has cost me, each tiny piece.
(It’s okay, we all make mistakes)
She wrote this just over a year ago, on the 9th of June, 2013. Too relevant.
We could be sitting there, for hours, talking about life and aspirations and whatnot, and find our hearts breaking over differences we cannot reconcile. I look at my hands and these dainty fingers speak of an age not-quite-there-yet – a reality which I’m quite at odds with, every single time, because it doesn’t match my heart. I listened, and listened, and listened as my companion spoke of an age I would one day reach, of a different time, a different dimension, a different mind frame -of things I would “one day understand” – of life sadness that will “wake me up” and flow us all on the same river. Eventually, he said-
-but I said no. Firmly, aggressively and unapologetic.
He sighed. “That’s why we’re so different.”
— Pinknerd | #16. Wherever There is a Flame, Someone Ought to Get Burnt