To repressed hearts that never give up

 You were crying on the stairs outside your office and I almost walked past you because I was late again. But I turned back, stood in front of you and asked you if everything was fine. You quickly wiped your tears and said yes, maybe a little confused as to why a random stranger stopped and asked you that. The random stranger hopes that you find it in yourself to say 'No, I am not okay' next time someone asks you that. You will, right? 


We all sit together, listening to each other, voicing out and stacking problems one on top of the other like they were so simple when it was eating our heart out for months and years, hugging each other, crying in each other's arms, you found me from across the room that day and sat next to me. 'Tired, aren't you?', we share a weak smile and you let me rest my head on your shoulder. 'Don't give up, Lynn. Cry if you want to. Don't give up on the world with your heart.', I snuggled in closer to you, watching people cleanse themselves in the comfort of a place where they were not judged. Maybe tomorrow. But not today, not in this instance. And some days, that's all you could ever ask for. 


You ask your mother whether you were made to hold this much sadness. You tell her you weep for everyone and how you cried in different houses and while holding the people who confided in you. You tell her you can't get through a story without crying and that is why you write. You tell her and you find words stuck in your throat because you can't get it out without weeping again. You tell her and look up only to see your mother crying. 'Please don't tell me. You are making me cry already.' You smile because you realise where it all comes from and grief felt a little less heavier when you understood who taught you to hold your heart on your sleeves. 


'I wish I wasn't this broken when I met you.', you tell him and he assures you in all the ways that he can. You hold him close because no one has tried so hard before just so they could keep you in their life. Love has never felt this easy and you can't help loosening your grip on it because you were taught love was hard when you were little. You were told the many ways people would leave, you have only witnessed how easily people left, you have only seen how easy it was to leave by yourself. And every single time that you hope this was different, you trick your brain into thinking that being loved is a privilege that is lost on you. It isn't, you know that and yet you find it so hard to believe. 


To be desired felt so easy that it made you sick. You were told that you were a woman and you will always be desired, even when you didn't want to be. In the back of the car, when you stand in a queue, when you walk down the road, as long as you breathe and maybe even after you don't, you will be desired. But to be loved, now that was something you longed for. Everytime you love, you keep one foot out the door or leave the door wide open. It's not a plea for help, it's a 'I always knew you would leave' even when you hoped for a 'I closed my door on the way in'. It's a 'I haven't dealt with love in so long, it's so tiring' even when all you want to really say is 'I know it's different this time.' And more than hoping for someone else, you hope that you never give up with that heart of yours because that is something that has undeniably being yours all this time. 

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