Nothing more.

Sometimes when I'm sitting, quietly, I can feel my dreams kiss me. 

Their lips rest softly on my cheek and remind me I'm alive. 

Somewhere along the line I started living my life for other people. I started feeling ashamed of who I was and became a care taker by default. I thought there wasn't very much interesting about me, but the people around me always needed nurturing. If I could not develop my life into something worth living than I would spend my time nurturing that something in others. This will always be a part of who I am. I care too deeply for the people around me. So deeply, that instead of saying something bothers me the moment it happens, I will lock it away and pretend it is my fault. Ultimately, I will have a moment of clarity and realize that there is nothing wrong with me and spew forth the rotten, vile, hurtful things that have been decomposing in my gut. I will hurt someone. 

I don't like to be alone. I don't like the feeling of having to deal with things by myself, but I am also too stubborn to bother anybody with what is going on. I will ask for help once. If no one thinks it's a big deal, I must be making mountains out of molehills. I'm strong, but I have been holding on for a long time and even the strongest muscles can atrophy.

 

How is it that you can be surrounded by friends and still feel so alone?

The difficult part of all of this is that I don't really expect people to understand. I don't. The strife stems from a deep desire to be more than I am and an understanding that that may never come. It stems from the fear that no matter what I do there will always be someone better to choose and I will be left to flounder. 

Moments of clarity give way to debilitating doubt and I am left to wander. 

Through all of this I know, at my core, that it is these characteristics working in perfect harmony with the rest of me that makes me an amazing person. I know that my caring and my strength make me the type of girl I should be happy to be. I also know, that stumbling upon someone who appreciates it enough to love me, is rare. To deny that I want a family would be the worst kind of lie. To deny that I want love would be suicide. The question is, what kind of love will I be left with? Will the universe ever see fit to bestow upon me the happiness I see in the relationship around me? Or, will I, instead, be relegated to world? 

It seems silly to worry. And to some, the idea may be ludicrous. But to me, love is the thing I live to give and long so desperately for.