Work in Progress

I am not a work of art, but I am a work in progress.

You may see the slight curve of my lips exposing my almost-perfect teeth on my face or the twinkling of my eyes when you stare at me and how my cheeks swell up due to the way you make me feel, but you will never see what I try to hide within the restraints of my own physical body. It is continuously burning, melting, yearning for your love, understanding and acceptance — something you have difficulty to offer.

I barricaded my heart with the memories of you, of us, of the moments we shared together. You may call me silly for always hoping and wishing that someday, somewhere down the road, our paths will cross once again, and you will sweep me off my feet and take me back into your arms…where you lead me to bed just to lay down with me for hours…just to feel my body pressed against yours, just to squeeze my little body even when I cannot breathe so you can be sure I am not going anywhere.

And I didn’t go anywhere.

Because you left me.

And that’s okay.


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