I wrote this in 2010. I’m reposting it here, today, because I think she needs reminding.
“Take a minute, girl, come sit down and tell us what’s been happenin’
In your face I can see the pain, don’t try to convince us that you’re happy, yeah
We’ve seen this all before but he’s takin’ advantage of your passion
Because we’ve come too far for you to feel alone,
You don’t let him walk over your heart
I’m telling you…”
My mom once told me that when it came to loyalty, I resembled an anchor; that when I cared, I cared with all of me. I would get frustrated running myself ragged, desperately trying to claw my beloved’s burden off his/her shoulders, only to place it heftily upon my own. This is my gift and my solemn curse. Many a time it’s been used against me, a hypothetical gun pointed at the bridge between my eyes. The fingers wound around it? My own. I shake my head at its existence but I refuse to apologize for it. Because caring that deeply is love and why would anyone feel the need to express regret over that? Keep reading.