the mistake

Should you ever ask someone that loved you to the best they knew of love if they love anyone else? I think intuitively I know the answer. What could be possible in the mind, sometimes for some people, doesn’t translate to the gift. It’s a matter of survival. What does love have to do with it?

If I hadn’t walked that line confusing my love for another’s I would more than likely walk it again. What I feel is mine, what they feel is theirs. If it isn’t directed at me then the feelings I really need to deal with are mine not theirs.

I make dangerous mistakes. Mistakes like this are hard to own, easier to project.

I feel comfortable in the place I rooted myself. I feel capable now that I’ve had time to cycle back into a doormat. I cringe at the honesty I’m shying away from. My stomach churns when I consider that my kindness sometimes carries a price tag. I am slowly learning that everyone deserves dignity, especially those that react so violently, mostly because they have never truly known it. Humility isn’t easy, it’s easier to condemn and blame and on some level refuse and reject. Honesty is harder.

This is a choice, the denial, but I caught myself. It’s not a countdown, it’s just another day and we are not so different after all.

art credit : The Student, Pablo Picasso, 1919