Why are we hard-wired to love the hard?
We mend ourselves to shield from the pain,
Only to jump back into the arms of another "too tight" hug.
We break our backs for the people who don't want us,
Who don't need us,
Who don't love us.
We fall from great heights to trust the drop of water below,
To expect an ocean of greatness,
Of stability.
We end up face first onto the pavement,
Splattered about but still alive.
Alive but dying,
Dying yet alive.
Our brokenness becomes us,
Defining the very feature of what love may or may not be,
According to the bad we suffered before.
We outline our other half into the expectations of what we have experienced.
Is it unjust?
Is this what pulls our hearts into the directions we want it to?
If our love becomes boring,
Does it mean we are content?
Or are we upset that we aren't strung out like a ******,
Addicted to the toxicity like a needle setting fire to someone's veins,
Boring because we found peace among the calamity and we are too young to be just that,
Content.