I bet she’s perfect

I bet she has it all

She’s one of those girls, one of the girls who gets love…

I’m not sure what she has that I don’t

But I’ve heard some theories

Something’s wrong with you

You’re too picky

Is it being picky or is it a protection?

See the fist thing a wounded spirit learns is to hide, to be more cautious, as the healing process is taking place the vulnerability that is there because of the wound makes vulnerability agony

Is something really wrong with me? Yeah.

But is anyone perfect?

Sometimes I look at those cookie-cutter women who are attractive and just seem to have it all, including the man, and I look beside me and I don’t see a man and I wonder what I’m missing

I wonder what it’s like to cuddle under a blanket and watch a Disney movie together

Walk down the street holding hands

Have him smile because you just have that cute face he can’t resist so he has to buy you cute things

Indulge each other with kisses and cuddles

But… in my heart, in my spirit, there’s a wound.

It’s shaped like a creature in the dark, standing at the doorway. A violation of the deepest, most sacred part of my heart. Screams in the night that were silenced abruptly.

Sometimes in the middle of the night when I wake up from a nightmare I wish I could cry, or scream. I stare at the blank wall in front of me and I wonder what he did to me and why can’t I remember it all. And sometimes, when I remember too much, how can I erase this?

And then the next morning if I’m not exhausted I’m determined.

I have to get my life back.

I have to fight this.

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