Her Thought Piece

“I’m beautiful, I’m funny, I’m gentle, I’m kind,” I tell myself while standing by the mirror. It’s my daily routine, the kind of confidence I must don before I step out of the door. It’s the dose I need to have the strength on my feet to walk hand in hand with the man that I say I love. “You’re beautiful, you make me laugh, your soul is gentle, your heart is kind,” he told me, not once, not twice. That was when his world revolved around me, when he would pursue me relentlessly, when he had the conviction, he loved me and wanted me to be his. And I was, and I loved him back and I felt beautiful, funny and kind. Time passed on and I am still his but I am not sure anymore. “You’re beautiful, you’re gentle, you’re kind,” is what I tell the reflection I see when I look at me, because now I have to remind me that; he doesn’t say it anymore. I am his but the four adjectives are thrown to others but me, he doesn’t realize I need them as much now as he needed to say them w

If you read the title your face is probably smirking already, I know. If it stays that way till the end please let me know. Our social advocates of imperfection, HOLA! Please stop getting edgy too soon, ITS JUST ME. If you hurt me and I do not confront you, count yourself uncared for, by me. Also maybe I’m keeping my distance because yelling my true feelings may drive you closer to me, and I am not interested. Being a girl in itself makes me automatically too awesome at detecting mistakes, getting mad, confronting the offender and not easily forgetting those faults. SO… Recently someone hurt me and I’m there counting A-Z; the chronology of everything they did. The nuts and bolts accurately giving the day, the hour, under what weather, in what clothes; blame it on my photographic memory. The burden of proof was staggering. Someone got the hang of it, shoved me in the car and took me on a nasty guilt trip down the memory lane.  This blame game doesn’t stop until you are tire