I tried not to write about you today.
I don’t know, maybe I’m just too fucking sentimental.
I also took an attempt of being positive. Demanding you back into my life. It was short lived.
Because no matter what your decision was, what your heart accepted to be true, how it made you feel, is all that mattered to me.
I’d imagine it wasn’t something you’d been dying to start up again.
I don’t imagine it was your first choice rather, your tenth, something you needed to process.
And even then, I imagine two months hasn’t been enough time for you.
It comes to mind that healing sometimes takes forever.
And if your heart even wanted to settle for forever.
I tried not to dwell too much in my own thoughts.
I don’t think I give a shit about myself half the time honestly. Maybe that’s the problem. I take responsibility.
I also took advice from men who hadn’t a clue about love. Who demanded respect. Lacked vision.
Because no matter what, someones little-girl was going to fall in love with them and love them in the ways I dream about loving you, and the million ways I already do.
I imagine spending the rest of our lives devoted to one another.
I can’t imagine a life without you telling me hello.
And even though it feels like you’re trying to tell me goodbye, I still hold onto forever.
It’s the risk I’m willing to take unending times with you.
And only to be with you.
Miss Parisia B.