The ramblings of a girl who is misunderstood ... very eccentric ... completely odd ... painstakingly creative ... a little loud ... unbelievably funny ... extremely intelligent ... totally nerdy ... and really interesting ... as she loves her life and lives it ... walking down many rocky roads ... surrounded by people who will never truly understand her ...

Sunday, February 9, 2014

A Crushed Flower

She had never really known love.  Dreamt it, imagined it ... but never felt it herself or from someone.

Then she met him.  The time they spent together was wonderful and she felt pure bliss.  She trusted again, believed again - let someone close again.  He made her feel special, wanted, important ... even loved.

Until things began to change.

He pushed himself away from her, stopped sharing (and seemed to have secrets), was so moody and sometimes very insensitive to her feelings.

She ignored those things, wrote them off as her being scared and overthinking - he was saying all the right things and she continued, trapped under his spell.

She was weak and she knew it.  It was time to find her strength again.

It was time to get answers.

Maybe she went about it the wrong way.  Sarcasm sometimes tends to sound bitter and callous.  But with sarcasm comes that detached feeling, the numb she needed to deal with the truth.

Boy was she dumb, naive, ignorant, blind.  Omissions are lies.  The "right words" are lies.  His beautiful words, now misunderstandings.  His caring and love just a friendship lost.  

True colors are now seen, blinding like the light of the sun.

Her fault.  Everything.  Always.  Her fault.  She took the blame.  She always took the blame.

And he readily allowed her to, with no question about her, just about him.  Past tense - his decision made - gone.

She cried.  So much hurt.  More so than with any other.  She accepted him, cared for him, helped him, maybe even finally loved, a little.

"I never cried over a man.  That is how I survived."  But she's not strong, not anymore.  She doesn't survive.  She merely exists.  She dies a little more every time.  She drifts away, locks herself off - the wall between her and everyone grows a little bigger, a little taller and security gets tighter.

Enough tears.  Enough sadness.  Anger.  Just plain anger.  Hate.  She's broken, ruined.  She's died and someone has taken her place.  A robot, an ice queen.  No emotion.  No love.  Nothing.  Nothing of her remains.  The fire of hatred grows stronger and stronger inside this angel who could never before hate.

She is destroyed.  Changed forever by someone she thought was real, true.

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