“What if this is the best version?”
I’ve called every friendly house a home, called every open pair of arms safe. what if I wasn’t made to belong anywhere at all? Everyone talks about how strong you must be to stay, but what about the strength it takes to run? To peel the posters off your walls and pack your entire life into boxes, trying to take your past with you and leave it behind at the same time? you can’t choose to hold on to some things and let go of others, in the same way you can’t make people love you enough to want you. just because he loves you doesn’t mean he wants to. That’s the thing with love, isn’t it? — it demands so much, yet so little of us at the same time. What if he doesn’t love you, but only loves the parts of you he created? what if he only loves the parts of himself he sees in you, or the parts of you that he could never become? What if he only loves you because you’re an extension of him, the fifth limb he always wanted? He can love you as much as she wants, but that won’t make you enough.
You would wring all the love from your heart and wash his feet with it if you could. but would he let you? What if this is the best version of yourself, and what if that is still not enough? what then? what then…?