It starts in my chest as a small burning flame.
I feel it go down my right arm and into the tips of my fingers.
Almost painful to the touch, my hands tingle.
Almost as if my soul was trying to reach out to anything that would reach back.
My face turns hot and red.
I try to take a deep breath but feel as if my lungs have quit their job.
I lose control of myself.

They tell you how bad it hurts when
a lover leaves, but they never
warn you about ending friendships.
How the person you would talk to
and see everyday, doesn't want to
talk to you and see you anymore.
And you know you did nothing wrong,
just a simple change in mind.
But this was the person who was
never suppose to leave.
The one you called family.

They tell you love is kind.
The first time i fell in love,
love was not kind.
Love left me hurt
love gave me anxiety
love left bruises and marks.
The second time i fell in love
i was a lot more careful.
And this is when love
made sure i was okay at 3am.
Love didn't try to put a hold on
my life, but joined it.
Love didn't compete with me,
but encouraged me.
Love told me i was special,
and i listened, despite being told
i was the opposite the first time.
When i heard the three words for
the first time again, it didn't sting.
It lifted.
And i felt it once again.

The thing about being used to being broken,
is being used to being broken.
When being broken becomes home.
When you're happy but sometimes
you wanna run back into your
burning house because, it is home
isn't it?
Because you don't need to build
another home just to burn it
down again.
Because pain held you
when no one else would.
Because this is who you are
this is who you've always been.