I no longer believe in “the one.” I can’t. I’ve handed my heart on a silver platter to two men who felt like home, and both burned down the love that consumed me and laughed as I came apart.
Both times felt like magic, like the universe laid out a path from them to me and nothing could disrupt its plans.
I don’t believe in soulmates, twin flames, lovers from past lives… I don’t believe that any one person belongs to another.
I don’t know if love even exists or if it’s camouflaged in cheap passion, lust and rose colored hope. Every time I made out with my then partner or made love, my heart grew 10 sizes and my insides vibrated up through the top of my head and honestly it sounds more debilitating than romantic. I poured every ounce of love and admiration into them, built them up and cultivated their egos… for what? Why?
I miss the “me” that existed during those times. She was hopeful, oozed love in everything she did. I don’t miss the men attached to these time periods.
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