We all shatter. No matter how strong we feel we are, no matter how thick our shells are. There always seems to be someone who can make it through, who can see through all our bullshit. Someone who notices our feelings before even we do, who sneaks their way into the core of our hearts.
That belief that one that will stay with us, one that remains a part of our hearts, is what feeds our addiction. Because love is an addiction. It’s why even when we have shattered over and over again, we keep looking for it.
It hurts every single time when we let someone in and at some point they leave.
We may kick them out. We may know when enough is enough. Maybe it isn’t a functioning machine, maybe it is pieces that just don’t fit. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s that you have tried fucking everything, everything, and it’s just not enough.
They may jump ship. They may not get us, or want us, or want someone else. They may feel we aren’t worth it. They may not actually see us. (Some people look at us as though we are mirrors instead of windows.)
In any case, we shatter when we lose that person in our hearts who somehow came to be a functioning piece. They leave and in turn create a gap. We shatter.
Then all the nerves in our body light on fire. Everything feels like too much. A song creates a physical reaction. A smell makes us shiver. Basic life becomes a challenge (no, you can’t go to that grocery store now). Love feels like a requirement to breathe. The warmth and familiarity of being loved feels like the fuel to keep our heart beating. Someone else’s hands can hold ours stable and steady.
Love is an addiction. It’s why even when we have shattered over and over again, we keep looking for it. To feel someone, to feel something, and in turn to feel less broken. To have someone to hold us and lead us to the oasis. Someone who is not afraid to scoop up all our pieces in their hands and expose each slice to the light and call them beautiful.