Love always, T

you're so pretty when you're confused. wrinkle between eyebrows and dancing light in pooling pupils. pretty when you're in pain, too. like a sad little raggedy anne&andy doll. but i don't like hurting you. everyone knows i'm a masochist, not a sadist. besides, you hurt yourself enough that i never have to. do you know you hurt me when you hurt yourself? do you? you do. i don't feel the need to hurt myself now;;being with you is enough. no, no, don't cry. it's not so bad. i'm a masochist, remember? always hunting down the thing that, in the end, will hurt me the worst. i don't deserve any better than the worst. i had "better" once. i had "better" and i broke "better" and now "better" is no better than me--a human-shaped depression in the air where he once stood. a depressed human shape filled with air. or something. it's all so difficult to keep straight. the point is, i can't be trusted with pretty shiny toys that say 'i love you' back to me and mean it; i'll only break them. so instead i let myself be broken, over and over again. because being broken is so much better than living with the guilt of being the one who's doing the breaking. but we need a happy ending here, my silly brain says. life isn't bad at all. you do love me, my dear little doll, and i adore you as well. you've promised me no more hurting yourself and i've pledged to give up the masochism to save you. you're good for me and maybe, for once, i can be good for you, too. like a photo on a beach-the waves the sand, the smiles, perhaps even a pretty frame to hang it on the wall- it's all coming together.

i am seeing in this moment, as if by the light of a match, a glimpse of my life and having it feel right.

this will linger.