I wonder if I was surprised when I realized you didn't love me.
God, that's such a pompous statement. So full of melodrama. So full of nothing.
But there it is. And I do. Wonder, I mean. I wonder if it hit me like a slap.
I used to joke that I'd have more scars if my mom wore rings. Luckily, she wasn't much for jewelry.
Honestly, it doesn't bother me.
I wonder about it sometimes. I can remember some things almost perfectly, unexpectedly, in the middle of something else sometimes. Sometimes I can reinterpret things that happened and realize by the feeling in my gut that I am closer to the truth than I was with my previous beliefs.
Sometimes people do awful things to other people, just to see how much they themselves are loved. To see how much another person will take.
I've been told that I'm angry because I wanted more. Because I took all that hope I brought in, balled it up into a sweaty fist and threw it like so much blame.
Maybe that's true.
But I'm actually pretty happy now.
I just wonder sometimes. And I guess wondering if someone knows how very little they matter to you is more effort than just letting go of all of that shit. Because, really. Who cares?