I always thought that holding on tight to the people you love was the right thing to do. That you had to prove your loyalty and commitment by gripping onto the relationship so tight it left blisters on your hands. I thought you were supposed to cling on to the sheer hope that if you love them enough, or commit to them enough they’ll finally love you the way you deserve.

I’ve come to learn that love doesn’t work that way. Love isn’t supposed to be painful. Love isn’t supposed to fucking hurt you. Love isn’t supposed to drive you fucking insane. Sometimes the person you’re spending your life fighting for isn’t worth the cost of losing your fucking mind. Not everything you lose is considered to be a total loss. Sometimes people are put in your life to teach you some hard fucking life lessons. 

I spent three years of my life clinging to the hope that the man I love would love me the way I was meant to be loved. And we’ll have the future I always dreamt of: 

The wrap around porch,

The kids,

The dog,

The matching Jeeps,

The endless love making,

The unlimited supply of love for each other 

&

that you’ll remember how much I meant to you,

that you’ll see me the way I’m supposed to be seen, that you’ll hold me the way that I’m supposed to be held, that you’ll love me the way I’m supposed to be loved, that you’ll treat me the way I’m supposed to be treated. But after a lot of pathetic crying nights, and self reflection I had to accept the dirty truth that was staring at me in my fucking face: 

That no matter how much I love you, you will never love me the way I deserved. & that truly is the most tragic and painful truth I have ever had to swallow down my throat in my entire life. It’s hard losing your lover; it’s harder when your lover was also your best friend, your ideal soulmate (if he tried).

One thing I can take from this relationship is I walked away and I did so with grace. I built a house with you believing that it would be our forever home. In the end it fell apart at the first storm that came our way. The walls crumbled around our feet, the foundation I spent years building cracked under the surface, and the roof caved in. You left me here to walk on broken glass, cutting my feet as I cried into the split walls, my home in ruins. 

After the storm passed, and the sun appeared, I opened my eyes and realized that I no longer need you to build a home with me. I’ve weathered many hurricanes; I’m capable of building my home with my own two hands. 

I’m fucking worthy.