Love is one of those funny things. It brings out the best and worst in you, really. It pulls everything about you up and uproots it till you’re standing there bare with all of you.. the best and the worst and the ugliest.. just standing there begging them to love you.
Love yourself first.

I can run miles without eating with a pit in my soul. Who knew?
I can comfort someone crying while my insides want to roar. I can recreate myself and see the best through any trial. I can keep the best in the most painful of situations and grow beyond measure.
I can do anything. I didn’t think this is how that lesson would end.. but I am stronger now.. thank you.

My love,
Magnetic.

You,
A metal cage.

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Ever since she was young, Dahlia
wondered
about everything. She was
full of wonder, yet
somehow she felt less
than wonderful.
Less than.
Those words often stuck
with her like some
sort of treacherous taffy,
clinging to the every corner
of her mind.
Corners. She thought.
Why is it that the corners
are most easily cracked?
Like dried Winter lips
or cuticles.
It is as if the coming together—
the union—leaves them
that much more vulnerable.
This was a theme for Dahlia.
Why was it that she always
felt this exposed weakness,
this dependence,
whenever she came
together
with a new lover—
and then inevitably
came undone?
Leaving her more fragile than
when she began.
A heap on the floor—small
and wide-eyed—like
a child swimming
in his father's business suit.
Sleeves pouring over tiny hands,
so no one can reach them.