i’m not a very open person.
there are parts of me that i think you have to earn the rights to find out. there are parts of me that i hide away, even from the people who have the ability to break me. i am not an open book, or at least, that’s what i’ve always believed.
but the first time i met you, you recognized the heartbreak, and i hugged that close to me – an emotional blanket i still have trouble letting go of.
but you’re different now.
you failed to recognize the trauma in my voice when i ran to you a couple of weeks ago, and you’ve failed to pick up on the nuances ever since.
it’s something i have to accept, but the thing is, it’s not defeat anymore. my sadness doesn’t stem from you. it stems from me. from a place inside that hasn’t seen daylight in too long.
i am the girl in torn jeans and faded band t-shirts.
i am the girl smoking too much and drinking to get drunk.
i am the girl flirting with fire and playing with lust.
i am the girl with feathers in her hair that you wanted to take home last night.
i am the girl with feathers in her hair who would’ve gone home with you, but didn’t.
i’m not a very open person. not even with myself.
but i’m trying. and for the first time, i’m succeeding.