Selfish

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

I write when I'm trying to think things through and honestly it helps.

Is something real when you don't see or feel it? When everyone around you says "I've never seen them love anyone like they love you." But what do you see? Because I see me sitting alone with them on the floor, wondering why they won't sit with me. They don't hear me speaking, crying or even shouting. They don't see me breaking; even if I'm pieces on the floor. Why can't they help with any daily tasks? Why do I have to beg? Why do I have to break before they think they should do something. Why does it take a break for them to understand. Is that love? People say that they love me, so why won't they touch me? I don't know if I feel love for them, because I don't know what their love actually feels or looks like.

And what if another came along? Late, but right when I needed them? To see me in a way no one ever bothered to see. Do I give up everything I know? All the familiarity, for a glimmer of what could be real love? What if I'm wrong? What if we couldn't survive? All the lives I'd ruin, just for a small chance at an emotion I'm not even sure is truly real for me.

Maybe I don't deserve that kind of love. Where I'm dancing for no reason, laughing when my world is falling apart and excited to wake up. Maybe I've hurt too many. Maybe I can't hurt anyone anymore. No one would understand anyway; I mean, isn't it better for just one person to hold all the pain? Rather than spread it to anyone else?

I can't be selfish, not this time. 

 


Submitted: April 17, 2021

© Copyright 2021 kiara brae. All rights reserved.

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