Finally updated my bio.

I’m alone in the world and nothing has ever felt so right and horribly wrong. But there is no turning back now, I made sure of that. Maybe subconsciously on purpose, if that makes sense

you aren’t who I need in my life. I need the freedom to live my life free of your strict expectations of who I should be. You say I’ve changed for the worse since it ended, but really I’m just behaving in a way so much more true to myself than you ever allowed. Only separated can I see how repressed and controlled I was. I felt good with you, sometimes so good I couldn’t let go, couldn’t go a day without seeing you, without hearing you, without toughing you. But you always could.

I miss your heat, not your heart. That’s why I only miss you at night when I’m lying alone, searching for your hand in the blankets tucked near the wall where you used to sleep. That should have been a sign, even asleep you are closed off; alone. Never truly letting me in because then you would be vulnerable, and you couldn’t let me have that power over you. I was supposed to be the imperfect one.

Often times I felt like another old car. Taken as a frame, built up, meticulously recreated based off pictures and research, to fit the vision, the design in your head. When a part wasn’t right you replaced it, When I was dented or scratched, you polished me up. I did my best to shine for you, keep myself clean and perfect for you and you alone. I took that care as love when really it was so much less than that. A hobby. A fascination with the idea of me, not what I was. You painted me white, but I wanted to be red.

And yes, I still love you. But I’m not ready to remember the good things yet, else I’ll forget the bad.

Its so hard