My fault

My fault is that I get too excited about those little things like the way they talk or the way they like their coffee or what kind of desert they want to have. That idea that I could talk to someone for hours and never get bored. That I can ask personal questions and share too much too soon. My fault is that I live the present moment because what matters to me is how to make the best out of these beautiful moments, those few hours you get to share with a special person.

My fault is how contradicting I am. A hopeless romantic with too much pride. A giver with her guards up high. A skeptic who believes in fairy tales. A realist with a wild imagination. A sensitive soul with a tough personality.

My fault is how I strive to find the balance. How I switched from one extreme to another. How I went from saying too much to saying nothing. How I went from loving too much to staying far away. How I went from giving too much to not giving anything at all. Maybe my fear is holding me back from going all in because the last time I went all in, I lost everything. Or maybe it’s the fear of giving my all to the wrong person again.

My fault is my honesty. The way I don’t leave any mystery because I think it’s pointless. Why be mysterious when you can be transparent? Why say things you don’t mean? Why pretend that you don’t like someone when you can’t stop thinking about them? Why lie when you can tell the truth? Why worry too much about what people will say or think when you can set yourself free? Why manipulate someone into loving who you’re not?

Maybe it’s my baggage. The one I don’t really hide. The one I’ve been carrying alone for years. The one that’s been draining me over and over again and I expect love to help me unload some of it because two is always better than one. The way I see it, your baggage makes you human and strong and vulnerable. Your scars make you an extraordinary person. Your tragedies make you beautiful and if I have to lie about all of that, then I might as well die. I might as well give up everything I’ve built and everything I’ve learned and become a completely banal person. A person who gave up on their exceptional story to be a secondary character in someone else’s story. And I refuse to be that person. I refuse to be the girl who’s ashamed of her baggage. I refuse to be the girl who pretends to be light and chill when she can’t even catch a break from all the heaviness in her heart.

Maybe it’s me but this is who I am. I can tweak some things and work on others but it’s always going to be me and it took me a very long time to like myself. It took me a very long time to accept the incomplete and bruised parts of me. It took me a very long time to realize that I could do everything right and still get it wrong because I’m not being true to myself. It took me a very long time to realize that maybe it’s me but I wouldn’t have it any other way and if that’s a problem for someone, one day it will be a solution for someone else.

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