How did I get here? The
question we all ask ourselves. How did we get here, how did we become who are
right now, this moment? And how what we used to be only a year ago feels like a
distant past. People change. And she changed. She could’ve told them how she
couldn’t imagine her life without them by her side, but all she can feel is a
lump in her throat. The feeling that she would only embarrass herself, that
they would only laugh it off what she spent weeks thinking about, that what
good is it to remind them that your guard is down.
When they misused,
twisted, chewed and then threw her words in her face, they didn't know how impeccably disastrous it would be. She’s not insecure anymore, not uncertain. She’s only been
hurt. Hurt enough to stop telling people she loves them and what they mean to
her. Hurt enough to presume she doesn't matter anymore, even if she did. Hurt
enough to start believe her words don’t mean much, if they meant anything at
all.
She thinks that they
probably knew. They probably knew that she’s suffering. But do they, really? Is
it that easy to throw people off? To make them think so contrary to the reality
that only exists inside you? Is it really that easy to forge one’s bearing that
even the closest of all fall for it? They did fall for it and it makes her feel
a strange kind of sadness. But yet, she laughs it off.
People around you need
reassurance that they’re still wanted, and loved, and that you think them alive
in the hours of death. They need to be reminded what they still mean to
you or they’d have no reason to not start think otherwise. But when you mean
equally to them, when they know you, wouldn’t they know this?
Don’t you know
this.
