When he said that he loved me, what he really meant was that he wished to own me.
He saw me as if I were fine jewels; something to possess, to admire, to cut and shape into what he desired.
But I am not jewels, I am the wind.
I am freedom in all forms. I am the racing of your heart and the feeling of flying. I am soft caresses and fingers through your hair.
I am a wanderer, I cannot stay still. My spirit is not meant to be tamed.
Love is kind, and it does not envy.
But his words to me where sharp daggers meant to tear me down, and he envied me my strength.
In his eyes love is about ownership, but in truth it is about balance.
It is a giving of my soul, and a giving of his. Then making a promise, and whispering to one another, "We are forever bound together."
But he could not see this.
Because when he saw that I could not be shaped into what he wished, he let me go.
I was not, and could not, be what he wanted.
I am not meant for a pedestal; do not hang me in a museum.
Instead let me wrap around your heart, and we can whisper our promises underneath the watchful stars.
I may get lost sometimes, but I will always find my way back home.
He couldn't see that, someday someone will.
And I will be ready.
