Accept.
Man, I hate acceptance.
Accept that I have to let it go.
I have to let them go.
I have to let her go.
I have to let go of the dreams I had.
The dreams that kept 13-year-old me alive.
I wanted to be married, by now.
I wanted to have my first baby in my arms, by now.
I wish I could ignore this pain.
I wish I wanted to numb it.
Make it go away.
But that’s not who I am. And that’s not who I choose to be.
That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
But it reminds me of why I’m on this path.
Sometimes, I wonder. If I was different, would they have loved me back?
Would they have stayed? Would that have kept them from abandoning me?
If I held them to a lower standard? If I had pushed away all my emotions…
I think of it. And it makes me wonder. And makes me sick shortly after.
Because that’s not who I am. And that’s not my story. Not anymore.
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