Sometimes I feel like I empty my soul onto these pages. I’m giving, it’s draining…

Being hurt kind of gives me a sense of entitlement, I feel as if I deserve good things. Security, nurturing, happiness. When my quest for these things don’t turn out well I feel exposed once again. My full, sensitive heart is seen for what it is: Damaged. Cracked. Wasted.

I’m always the girl fighting for a cause, wounded but passionate about my beliefs. For whatever reason I believe in you and your hustle and your path in life and your soul. You’ve touched me. And for a second I thought you could see me for who I was. Happiness is a chase, perhaps we’re both tired of running. But I see you. And I miss you, though you were never really mine.