I realized that I have this problem sometimes; looking people in the eye. I realized that I can't properly look people in the eye when I'm lying or not quite telling the truth. Quite a common problem, I know. But I never realized it about myself until I found myself face-down in a position no self-respecting girl wants to find herself in.
Why exactly do we feel the need to please people we know won't give us what we need in return? I think it's that intrinsic need to feel accepted, no matter how undesirable the task is. The need to help, to maybe make those people feel just as good as they make you feel.
I know I'm not crazy. Famous words from a crazy person, right? I used to think that what I felt in my heart was so true, that nothing could shake my beliefs. Now I'm not so sure.
I met someone. Fell hard, let my hair down, and let them in. I know my walls are often made of marshmallow fluff, but still. I let them in, trusted them. Gave them a bit of myself. No matter how small that piece of yourself is, you still gave it away. You are all you have. Everything about you is special and beautiful and unique, and when you let someone have a little bit of that shining wonderfulness, it's like giving them a precious diamond. Once you give it to them however, it's out of your hands. What they do with it is what matters. Some put it up on a shelf, some trade it in the black market. Some take that diamond and turn it into a necklace and give it back to you. For those of you not quite so good with metaphors, what I mean by that is sometimes, the good ones, take that little bit of yourself that you gave them and turn it into something more. They make you a better person just by being with them. And I think that's what everyone is looking for.
Is this what I found? No. Is that a bad thing? No. I think the problem here was that I gave that diamond to an amateur. Someone who has had chunks of mud in their hands for far too long. This person simply didn't know what to do with me. That's ok.
But what about me? I'm not ok.
All we want in life is to be loved, really. Humans are quite simple creatures. Feed us, water us, love us. That's all we really need. We want to feel special, needed, wanted.
We are supposed to believe that everything happens for a reason. I once read the quote, "good things fall apart so better things can come together." Is this always true? I think it is.
But the interim is the very hardest part. It's the four AM, the loneliness, the cold that hurts. It's the looking back on the good things that makes the 'better' part seem so far away. It's remembering the way they made you feel special and safe. It's remembering getting butterflies every time they texted you. It's remembering the way how badly you wanted to kiss them on that first date. It's knowing that the shell you've built around yourself; they were the ones who pushed it aside and warmed you back up. It's knowing that you had one of those rare connections when you thought they weren't possible anymore. It's knowing that no matter how hard you try, you'll never forget the way they made you feel. It's knowing that they made you feel like absolutely nothing in the world mattered when you were together.
They say that our pain shapes us. But why does it have to hurt so damn much when we're being molded into place? This pain is real. It's raw, it's ugly. But it doesn't go away overnight. I know it will someday be a thing of beauty.
Are we always going to fight this love/hate battle in our lives? I hate that I fell so hard. But I'm grateful that I did, because of the lessons that I learned. Are those special shining moments in our lives always going to be dampened with mascara-soaked tears? I think so. And I think I'm ok with that.
Losing someone I cared about so much has made me realize that I'm that much more appreciative of those people I still do have in my life. I don't tell my best friends and my parents that I love them nearly enough. They're all I've got. And most importantly, they're the ones who didn't run out on me when the going got tough. They're the ones that are there no matter what, wherever, whenever. They're the people handing me tissues to wipe away those mascara tears.
Defying gravity doesn't mean that no one can bring me down. It means I've found the strength to admit that sometimes I need to be picked back up. And that, to me, is the true meaning of magic.
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