Won’t You Come Home. (300 words)

There can be no good without bad or success without difficulty. Truthfully this reminds me of my first attempts at happiness. I met a boy–and he picked up on my silent need to please. Some of my closest friends said my mothering instincts would be the death of me.

Further down the line I realized we were both guilty of selling impossible dreams. I wanted the kind of “ever after” that could only exist in fantasy. For awhile, we both stood still–idling together at a green light while other cars drove past. Content to run on empty.

Amateur mistakes tore through our integrity as desire held us prisoner in our seats. Even if I felt better alone, I could not ignore the piece that went missing. He held the ugly parts of my identity so openly and without judgement that I did not believe I could be accepted by anyone new. Problems between us however, would not fade no matter how much we wished they would leave.

I begged him to stay but he lived one step ahead of me. Always prepared for hostile and adverse reactions. “I just cannot be here with you“. The final words rang in my ears as I fell into a well of self-pity. Dreamers are the worst people to wound with reality. We do not take ideas lightly–we build entire worlds around you.

Whether in love or disgust, I choose my weapons intentionally. It did not make sense when I would yell or scream or worse, pretend he meant nothing. But the truth is not always easy. I imagine every adult is just a  stubborn child, forced to be responsible. I think it is important to be honest. Necessary to have peace.

But none of this matters if you won’t come home to me.

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