Soul Searching Part 3: Even Pedals

When someone shows you who they are, believe them. -Maya Angelou

I finally came to terms with a truth too painful to say out loud. So I chose to write it down as if the words would sting less when read. I free fell into undoubtedly the most consuming, breathtaking love with someone who confused love with a fix and chose me as his drug of choice, never once stopping to consider the come down only I would experience. I never asked him to love me back, I just wanted him to be honest. Love me or leave me, don't fight for me if you don't want all of me, and after five bloody years of relentless battles, I finally realized I was fighting with myself. My heart and mind having it out for which one made more sense. Does he love me or love me not? But let's be honest, who wants to ever admit that the person they love, doesn't love them back? It's much less difficult to have hope in the fantasy that the person you love, loves you back equally, that the breath-taking feeling inside your chest is shared by the one person who gives it to you. He loves me? He loves me not? Picking the pedals away from my heart, as I try to come to terms with the even amount of pedals on this flower. That last pedal meaning I meant nothing to him. No if's, and's, or but's about it. I was his toy to play with when he got lonely but would all too quickly toss to the floor when he got bored. I was his game away from the court; my heart the ball. After far too many turn overs and never enough steals, I finally realized his intentions were never to hold on to me. His ball handling skills were fine, his heart just wasn't. I thought... I hoped I was irreplaceable, that I meant something to the one who lit up my world, took my breath away, and taught my heart what it is to bleed. But I didn't and wasn't. You know how I know? Because you remember the birthdays of those you care about, you know their major, middle name, and how many siblings they have, you know where they live, where they work, and if they have a dog. You believe them when they tell you their side of the story and defend them when something doesn't add up. And when they tell you they love you, you care enough to tell them if you don't. So after five missed birthdays, far too many assumptions and double standards, I have my answer. He loves me not. He didn't love me back, and that's fine, because I didn't ask for love, I asked for the truth.