The Random Ramblings of Lauren

My favourite poet wrote a book appropriately titled All The Words Are Yours. I used to believe it defined love, at its purest. But recently, I’ve come to accept I was wrong. There is never enough words. They don't do you justice. I search and seek the words powerful enough to define and describe my love. But their meaning is meaningless. All the words are yours; and yet, they're not enough. You make language, limited and insignificant. A failure of linguistics that pales in comparison to the magnificence of you. Give me more words. More letters, more vowels, more meaning and more feeling. So that one day I can find a way to say these words are yours, with love…

If you were to walk away, I wouldn’t stop you, or chase you, or try to change your mind. I won’t beg you to stay or make false promises we’ll find a way. If you go that’s on you. there’s nothing I can do. So instead I’ll hold my tongue, fix a smile, and though it hurts, I’ll wish you well. Not because I want you to go, but because I won’t fight for someone who has given up. It’s not pride. It’s preservation. When you leave, you prove how wrong I was to think this time would be different, or that you were worthy of me. And that hurts. But it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as breaking myself into pieces to fit a mould I was never born to belong. So if you  walk away, don’t look back expecting me in your wake. Don’t change your mind and try to stay. You’re gone. I was wrong.  But I’m moving on. Bon voyage.

So, over the past few months or so I've been trying to figure out how to write this post, to talk about the end of my five-year relationship. The intention was to clear my head of this swirling mass of thoughts, and attempt to find some clarity. But, every time I ended up writing, this post got longer and more difficult.  So I put it off, I avoided it, and I stressed about how on earth I would ever manage to translate my thoughts into words.  However, I refused to give in, because part of me believed that once I could get this confusing tangle of emotion out of my head and into words, I would finally be at peace. So, one sentence at a time, as the days and weeks and months stretched on, I managed to string together this rambling mess of thoughts. And in the end, it just turned into an apology. To myself, to those around me, and more than anything, to the girl who all of this began with. So, here goes... Do you ever feel like the longer time passes, the further from yourself yo...

She has the kind of face to write poetry about. To spill words like ink on page after page, searching for a way to describe it. And yet, there are never enough words. Their meaning, feels meaningless. I could travel to the furthest reaches of every continent. Dive to the deepest depths of the seven seas, or soar to dizzying heights above the tallest trees. And yet, the world would feel dull, in comparison to her. Even in a thousand lifetimes, hard as I try, I wouldn't ever find a single sight more beautiful than her face, nor a string of words capable of capturing that beauty. Because nothing has ever or will ever be more beautiful to me, than her.

 I am slowly learning that for a long time, and all too often, I accept (or even embrace) so much less than I deserve because fuck it, could be worse, right? But I cannot measure my expectations of others on the pains of my past, or the possibility of something worse. I deserve more. I did then, and I certainly do now. So I won't be  merciful to toxicity, negativity, or inferiority. Give me what I deserve, or step aside and let someone else. Because I know my worth. And you better believe I won't settle for less.

I lost myself to love, once. And I promised, next time would be different. I found myself after so long, estranged, and I swore I wouldn't lose myself to loving someone else. But then, I met you. And I never expected it, but you showed me... Loving yourself and loving someone else aren't mutually exclusive. Loving me and loving you are one and the same. So I will never lose myself to you. I am myself, because of you.

I never really had a home. A space to be safe, or to call my own. I flitter and fleet from place to place, never still for long enough to settle and stay. So I have never felt the anxious unease, nor the gnawing nostalgia of being homesick. But perhaps a home isn't always a place. Maybe my home is in you. Because the longing for your arms around me, your skin against my fingertips, your intoxicating scent, and the taste of your lips... It sure feels like I'm homesick. So take me home.