Lavender Love

I have problems with letting go of the past. I'll grip onto It with all my might, feeling the pressure of my fingernails against the skin of my palms until they bleed. Doing whatever I can to hold tight to these sacred memories. Even If that means looking back through rose-colored lenses and ensuring I only see the good In you. Even when there's so much hurt surrounding me that It swallows me whole. Even still, my heart aches for what was.

He pleaded with me tonight. "Please tell me you forgive me. Please, let's have things be like they used to."

But how can things be like they used to when I've been gnawed at and ripped apart? How can they be like they used to when I feel like a shallowed out version of myself? When one half of me Is pleading with you to make me whole again, and the other Is scarred from your puncture wounds?

And yet, I yearn to go back to that time, too.

"I do," I said Immediately.

And then I had to pause and think about what had just come out of my mouth.

Do I?

Forgive him?

Have I actually let go of It? What Is the difference between letting go and learning a lesson and setting a boundary? How can I be myself so freely with you again and capture that same beauty between us, when things look so different now? When we looks so different now?

Why did my people-pleasing tendencies have me speaking before I could even think?

That's my mother. Any my sister. And my best friend. And every other woman's cross to bear: Ensuring the comfort of the people around us, even at the cost of making yourself uncomfortable. Especially when that person Is someone you used to love.

And definitely still do.

We finished dinner and he asked to kiss me. He didn't shy away from the rash on my upper lip from the Inflammation he very well could have caused by wrecking my nervous system. And yet, I hesitated. I turned my head sideways. It was awkward, no longer the second nature It once was.

"I miss you", I told him. "And I'm happy you're happy. But I'm sad you're moving on with your life without me."

"I am happy", he said, "but I have a hole In my heart. It takes up every aspect of my life, missing you."

"My hurt's bigger than your hurt", I teased.

He laughed.

But I think we both know It to be true.

I feel like everyone In my life Is moving on. Full of love and Intimacy. And I'm stuck In the mud, alone.

I don't know If I'll ever feel Intimacy In the way I once shared It with him again. I know I want to. But I don't feel like I'm a lovable person.

I feel like I'm a leavable person.

Like I'm meant to give and others are meant to take until their bellies are full and their thirst has been quenched, and then they're off to their next meal - too sick to Indulge In leftovers.

And being told I'm hard to love has made me almost believe It.

Almost.

But then I close my eyes and remember.

I remember all the times I bent over backwards until I snapped. All the times I stretched myself thinner and thinner for the sake of keeping someone else comfortable. And somehow, the point of contention Is never how far I bent.

It's that eventually, I broke.

I'm tired.

I am who I am.

I'm tired of apologizing for It. I'm tired of "working on myself" as If I'm a renovation project that will finally be worthy of staying for once the construction Is complete.

Take It or leave It.

But we know I'm a leavable person.

I've been left before.

I'll be left again.

There's comfort In the routine.