E

E

(by Heather Owens)

I’ve never felt so unworthy of someone before. It hurts. It’s weird how he doesn’t give me butterflies anymore, but instead a feeling that makes me want to curl up in a corner and cry until I have no more tears. It’s like he’s dead, but his ghost is here to taunt me; remind me of what I once could’ve had, but so foolishly threw away because of the same unworthiness I feel, even still. I am terrified at the thought that I will either end up alone or constantly settling for less than I want. Too bad what I want is far too good for me. What is it about him that makes me feel so small, so insignificant? I can’t help but believe that my feelings of insignificance have everything to do with my ridiculous past. Every time I’ve loved, I’ve been rejected. Every time I’ve been loved, I’ve been treated badly in some way, shape, or form. I’ve been cheated on, lied to, used, and rejected. I’ve even been loved too much. And every single one of those boys (I call them boys for a reason) has been a temporary replacement for the man I love. They have been a band-aid for my lacerated heart, a bucket of water on a raging forest fire, a poorly timed joke at the funeral that is my life. Yes, they helped ease the ache for a moment, but then aided the pain in its growth. Once the ice is cracked, the more it’s stepped on, the more likely one will fall into the freezing abyss below. I’ve cracked and fallen, now I’m drowning. I can’t see, I can’t breathe, I reach into the frozen darkness for something, someone to cling to, but I just keep getting stabbed by the very roots that should be my salvation. I’m giving up now. My mind has worked too hard to continue thinking. My body has searched frantically for so long and can no longer continue. My heart beat slows. . .the cold is too much for it. For my heart, itself has turned to a cold, stony piece of my anatomy. And yet, even as I sink to the bottom and slowly slip into utter darkness, something in the darkest recesses of my heart screams out for someone to pull me out. Someone to hold me until I am warm again. Someone to kiss breath back into my aching lungs. Someone to take my heart and put it in his chest where it will be warm and safe; and give me his heart to keep safe as well. Not just anyone, but him. I want these things from him! I’m tired of replacing him with phony replicas. I want the real thing. I want the real him.