melancholy
What Would You Tell The Person Who Hurt You Most?
Usually all of my hurt
begins from a place of “love.”
The ego kind of love.
Attached
clinging,
possessive love.
I want you to want me.
Some days my mind tells me the stories
of how you have forgotten me,
forgotten the way that I smile
and the way I play with the ends of my hair.
Thousands of miles between us
hurt so much
not because of the distance
but because of the fear.
I am afraid
of what my life would look like
without you.
As I sit on this beach,
witnessing the brilliant blue of the Mediterranean Sea,
I want so much to feel
a genuine love connection.
The conscious and unconditional kind of love
that knows no distance
or boundaries,
love that does not fear, cling,
or hurt.
But I still struggle to do this.
Every day.
So this tells me that I am not ready.
I am not ready to love you
to your face.
I am not ready to share a life with you,
side by side.
Not yet.
I won’t ask you to wait for me
even though my heart is split open
and screams for you.
I want to smother you with my pain
so that you can soften it,
and love me back to a place
that feels comfortable.
But my pain is mine
and only belongs to me.
So I feel it
and welcome it.
Just as this rocky shore welcomes each wave.
The waves that collide
and the way that softly rock,
creating smooth and pleasant surfaces
on these thousands of colorful stones.
I watch these waves
and try to find a way
to love myself back to my source,
back to a place where there is less trying,
less effort.
A place where I can make a soft
and loving space
for my pain.
Because you didn’t hurt me.
You didn’t hurt anyone.
Hurt comes from within.
But luckily,
so does love.
—
Written by Saskia Layden
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