I would love to lose the love that remains AND shut off the risk and the pain.
I am a good person. I laugh, I love and I am one of the most honest people you'll ever meet. I am 5'7, thin and only about 20% wrinkles right now. I have two beautiful children that I cherish, a law degree, a clean house and I can cook like Emeril when I want to. Yet, I have been dropped on the concrete floor from the highest shelf, my insides exploding in my form; and I am dented, damaged and peeling.
I still wear my wedding ring (on my right hand) just to remind myself that the risk and the pain of letting go is choke-holding me, and I am suffocating. I am the creator of my own demise just by being who I am... hopeful, loving and kind. I never imagined that it would go unrewarded by him. What remains. My form decaying, but reaching, reaching for the band-aids and Neosporin.
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