I’m surprised I still love chai lattes because in the past year 90% of the drinks I have consumed are chai lattes.
I am like your favorite sweater.
Soft and warm, creased in all of the right places.
Draped across your shoulders with an aching sense of familiarity.
But I am second hand, once loved and worn by someone with broader shoulders and a harsher grip. It was the type of loving that leaves you a little torn at the seams, a little tired around the edges.
I have been stretched out of shape. I have tried to sew on patches, to cover the rips and tears, to piece together the spaces that were left empty; I have tried to love myself again.
But I have lost my definition of what it means to love, and be loved in return.
So forgive me if on a cold night a breeze gets through. If the icy air rushes straight through me it is because I am tired. I am worn very thin from loving people who will never know what it means to love me back.
I am trying to keep you warm. But, I am missing pieces I don’t know if I will ever recover. I am gathering up the words I need to understand what it means to be whole.
I am like your favorite sweater, handed down. I will never fit like new and I won’t always be able to keep you warm. But it is because I have spent too much time wrapped around the wrong people; it is because you too were slung across a strangers shoulder, losing your definition of love.
But I am here now. Comfortable and familiar like I’ve never called anywhere else my home. With stains, rips, and all of my imperfections I am here, handed down just like you.
Lets try and keep each other warm as we fumble and fall, both looking for the same things. Both searching for the same words.
Both of us, simply looking for what it means to be loved.