He is a broken heart and I am stitches.

I’m in a predicament.

I really like this guy, you see. He’s smart and considered and healthy and sensible and driven and passionate and creative and interesting and incredibly sexy. I feel like a happier, kinder, funnier, more confident person when I am with him.

The predicament is that he does not like me back. Or, at least, his feelings for me are fleeting. It’s not his fault. It’s not even the truth. But it’s how he feels because his heart is broken.

He is a broken heart and I am stitches.

I am stitches trying to hold this broken heart together. Embedding myself into a wound that’s not yet ready to heal.

He is a broken heart and I am stitches.

But I don’t want to be stitches.

I want to be air.

I want to be air that fills his lungs with life and feeds his heart with the strength to heal. I want to be air that purifies his thoughts and clears his vision and elevates his mood. I want to be air so fresh that it blasts him into the next great chapter of his life…

I want to be air. I deserve to be air. But, to him, I am only stitches. And one day, eventually, the broken heart will realise it’s only chance to heal is by taking the stitches away.

There’s an expiry date on stitches. And it sucks.

But, I can never be air when all you need is time.

x