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A letter to the man that stole my muse
I know who I am now.
That's not to say my future isn't cloudy. My dreams are still blurred around the edges, but I can see the unmistakable shape of something wonderful.
I wouldn't know that if you hadn't shown me who I'm not.
I'm not the girl with Daddy issues, who feels the floor crumbling beneath her feet before the foundation's even built. I'm not the teenager that wears my wrists like threadbare sleeves, constantly tearing at my self-inflicted fragility. I'm not broken, but that's not to say you didn't break me.
There've been nights when every time I closed my eyes, I saw faces morphing; the faces of everyone I've grown to love twisting grotesquely while I drowned in my own rapid breathing.
But a man with eyes as fragmented as a constellation showed me what it means to be strong. He told me that when life hits me in the throat, in the chest, in my weakest parts, just keep running. Never quit running, he said. Never give up. That day, I felt my heart rising like a star in my throat, and it's never gone away.
Don't tell me I'm not beautiful, a moonlit sky would never believe a man who sees the darkness better than light. Don't tell me my tongue's filled with venom, no one's more aware of this sugar in my mouth than I. Don't label me a spinster ten years before I plan to marry. You're just so used to the acid in your words that you forgot what kindness tastes like.
I'm not angry anymore. My sweet tooth won't let me stay bitter for long. But every time I look at you, I see our relationship morphing into something that makes me write long letters you'll never read, sends me begging for help from a man who pours tequila on top of his insanity. But you know what? He was there for me. That's something I'd never ask of you.
Love,
the girl who's gonna make her wishes come true.
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