You find solace in the arms of unrequited love. It wraps you up, smothers you in it’s falsehood, and for those moments you are okay with it. You believe those arms will protect you from the negativity of the world. If you stay in the warmth of those arms during the winter then maybe, just maybe, you won’t feel S.A.D. For once this winter, you won’t feel the dulling of your mind and the numbing of your world. As the flowers begin to wilt, maybe you’ll be able to stand up straight as they once were and tell their story in vivid colors.
If you stay longer in those arms, it starts to feel like home. You convince yourself that those arms aren’t a rented space; that your deposit in love and affection will keep you around long enough. Now you are selfish because you want a home— something that is yours. You try to negotiate this space. Maybe if you give them your most prized possession, yourself, then they’ll find a mortgage in that. That the monthly payments will be enough to keep you from being evicted from their arms.
They decline your offer; you hope that you don’t overstay your welcome. This space is only available on a seasonal basis; so, be sure to pack up your stuff before the start of spring. There will be a new renter. There’s always a new renter. You fear that maybe the next will one will be permanent. Nonetheless, you push away that gnawing feeling and convince yourself otherwise.
You find comfort in illusions. It is your foundation. You’ve realized that all you’ve done is wait. Your senses are distorted, and you know none of this is real and but you can’t seem to tell the difference between love and lust, but something tells you it’s the latter. Your heartbeat quickens, but you don’t know whether it’s your anxiety or the sight of him. You build the structure with “what if”, you surround yourself with a wall of self-doubt. Maybe they will consider this proposition— maybe they’ll see that perhaps you’re not okay with this. However, the illusion persists, and time stops for no one.
Second thoughts hang over your head. The mental roofing does little to protect you from Mother Nature, but at least they’ll keep you safe from yourself. At least they keep you from diving heart first. It may make you pause for a second, but you're really good at lying to yourself about anything. You convince yourself that your past off-and-on-relationship was healthy— you blame your naive ninth grade self. You remember the time you convinced yourself that if you worked hard enough and did all the right things your parents would trust you. You stopped trying, they were too conservative anyways.
You’ve become a home for others, you lay your heart at the entrance and welcome everyone. It’s big enough for the EVERYONE. The visits are frequent, but they always leave— always. They never stay, they do not promise you anything. Their attention is temporary. Like a doormat, your heart becomes tattered and worn out. However, unlike a doormat, it cannot be replaced. The damage is permanent.
