insights of a repairing woman

Cultivating compassion comes in many forms that live outside of your expectations of how to cultivate compassion.

You looked at me and smiled. I pretended to understand. If I didn’t, I would’ve dropped right then and there. It was worse than making up excuses for every day that had passed without hearing back from you. At least then, I could imagine you cared.

Like a moth to a flame, be content with the warmth or else you’ll burn.

Maybe one day I’ll figure out what I was to you because I never had the answer even when I asked you. I hope you didn’t think that telling me everything I’m not and everything I couldn’t be was enough.

The moment our relationship fell apart mirrors the moment we saw something in each other.

You saw me as an outsider and wedged open space to bring me in.

Later, you saw me as an intruder and collapsed any space I held onto.

I didn’t know the savior could be the bully too.

I long for a soft, sweet voice that’s knows me inside out to tell me exactly what to do.