Damaged Goods.

This is what I am not.  This is what I refuse to be.  I haven’t compromised any one part of myself for you, unless I allow myself to consider having done so.  Which I will not do.

You have plagued me.  Every part of me.  You have shaken my entire world and caused me to re-evaluate every corner of my moral standings.  But I am not afflicted.

You have hurt me.  Despite every promise, and every happy tear, you have hurt me

But I am not damaged.  I might feel like I am.  I might still cry, and feel lonely.  I might still think about you.  I might still miss you, and treasure you, and smell you, and hear your voice, and the ping of your cellphone everytime you get a text.

I may still hold on to you.  And I just might do so for forever.  But I am not damaged.  I have too much to offer in this lifetime to be anything less than “opened but in great condition”.  And sometimes original packaging comes with too much care and responsibility anyhow.

I’ll forever be the only Calvin to your Hobbes.

So fuck you.


2 thoughts on “Damaged Goods.

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