c'est la vie.

Dear Self,

            The beautiful sunset is slowly drifting away because I am consumed in thoughts of you. Though I tell myself to be satisfied, I will never be content. The cigarettes that I smoke burn faster than the acceptance of your identity. The bottles of alcohol seem to mutate my mind into ecstasy until it evaporates into the murky relinquishing wind. As I came home from a refreshing escape not too long ago, you didn’t fail to make me quiver with envy. The image of roses in vases, a red table top with kisses near and far, brownies and food shaped like hearts etched into my memory as something “you could never have.” The sound of my roommate’s text messages going off a thousand times per millisecond has choked me into being an unbeliever. These thoughts have me convinced into digging deep into the trash of my precedent, convinced that I deserve no more than a second hand offer of worship. This weekend of what should be of “love” has been a lifeless remembrance, a burial of regrets you may describe. And as I sit alone in the chambers of my solitude, I remembered why I love you so much. Though you have failed me many times, you still pick me up and make me believe in life once again. When inspired by heart ache, you have made it known that recognition for something less is out of the question. When surrounded by negativity, you have shown me that I have no reason to be so miserable. When I become lonely, you have given me the courage to find pleasure in individuals that seek the same desire as I do. You have taught me that I don't need to seek other's for happiness but of my own. You always find the best in me even when I am filled with doubt. And when I can no longer breathe because of the disapproving pedestal I have so unconsciously put upon myself, you remind me to stay grounded. How could I have been so selfish to neglect you? When you alone, have been my unyielding shelter? So this is to you, always true, for loving me even if it’s not on a special day.

 Always,

xx.