The hardest part of being me is knowing men with many wives and me with zero husbands.
Is that right?
I am not really sure about this.
Me either.
I’m worried.
But I am also concerned.
Who ever you are. What you look like. Your face and everything.
But the way my heart aches tells me that there is something there.
Something... Like.
The pain of my first Best Friend. And my mom forcing her to give her my bunny.
The pain of giving away until material things no longer mattered.
Like throwing away a favorite top in the trash or throwing away stockings in a hotel and then my most favorite Tee at a Run Down Nasty Koffee joint.
I don’t know how much my heart can take.
It felt like I was dying.
But. It felt worse.
Dying is painless. Having a heart is not.
-_-BetwixtIt-_- Community Member 
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