Helpless in the face of love. Love might not be for me after all. My guess is the past several relationships have flawed my idea of love. And I can’t help but look for what soothes me. Something effortless, something that falls around my body like sheer lace, something comfortable, transparent with a hint of mystery and light, but also looks so good on me.
Since none of my past relationships have been ideal, how do I identify the amount of work that might go into the right one? How do I let something consume me when I don’t know just how much it contains? I just don’t know anymore. Finding someone who makes you laugh and a million other things just isn’t enough. There’s all this baggage I carry that no one should deal with, but I’m finding it hard to declutter. Will no one ever love me for me, for all the things my past lovers have made me? For all my scars and all my flaws.
She Was Sea 