Written by Juliana Hill
It’s strange how someone can tear another person down, searching for a love they once knew, even when they know that love was never meant for them. Their heart, covered by the shadow of what once was, is blind to the possibility of something real. But I won’t waste my time on what could be— could be temporary, while it holds forever.
My sense of love has been tainted, leaving me questioning whether someone truly loves or cares for me. Yet, I don’t owe them that burden of doubt. I owe them the purest form of love I can give. But is my love still pure? I don’t know. How do I keep giving my all, knowing someone once had it and shattered it? How do I wear my heart on my sleeve when my sleeve is fraying, threadbare from all the weight?
How can I believe in “I love you” or “forever” when forever came and went like a wave, fleeting and indifferent? What do I deserve? To love others and never be loved in return? Will I ever be loved as I dream of being loved—loudly, proudly, endlessly? I tear myself apart, day in and day out, wondering: if I wasn’t enough for you, how can I ever be enough for anyone else? Or is it all just a lie?
You promised till death do us part, but I died a little when you left. I begged you to stay because I couldn’t picture life without you. But now, life moves on, and where are you now? All I feel is guilt—guilt that I couldn’t change you, that I couldn’t help you see the love you deserved, though I gave you every part of me trying.
Am I broken? Yes. Trying to fix it? Yes. But wearing my heart on my sleeve only invites people to come and go, leaving me drained while they walk away with full hearts, full lives.
Will I ever be enough? I can’t help but wonder.
At the end of it all, I wish you the purest love. But I don’t think anyone will love you the way I did. The difference between us is that I still have my heart open, and someone out there will love me, steadily and consistently. But you—you can’t accept love, not truly. What is love to you, anyway?
Love was what I gave you—unconditional, forgiving, patient, and pure. But your heart will never accept it, too busy tearing itself apart over the past. I guess, in the end, we were both never enough.