I enjoy not being anyone’s anything. I enjoy the freedom of reading and writing at the local Starbucks by myself. I enjoy listening to music in my room alone. I enjoy not having to explain myself to anyone as to why I’m out so late with friends. I enjoy going to the gym and freely working out on my own. I enjoy being selfish and spending money on myself. Let me say it again, I enjoy not being anyone’s anything. And for the first time in awhile, I’m okay with that. Fucking finally.
And that’s it. Her entire relationship boiled down to one pile. A pile that now resemble what once was, but now isn’t. She didn’t feel free or liberated as she thought she would be, she didn’t feel anything at all. Something that she has gotten use to for awhile now.
You are the run on my sheer tights. You are the sweater I’ve been looking for all winter long. You are my missing bobby pins. You are the tangles in my hair. You are my broken a/c in the summer. You are both my uneven eyeliner and clumpy mascara. You are everything that has gone wrong in my day, but sometimes I still think of you.
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