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I'm Maggie, I'm 17, and I love to write. I hope to be a published author one day. I write a lot of angsty poetry.
the sun has gone to bed.
A Lesson Learned The Hard Way
Dec 18, 2017 6 years agoI wouldn't even call myself a nice person. I'm cynical, snide and a tad bit rude on the best of days. But the quality that tops them out is my loyalty. I'm loyal to a fault, cut off my nose to spite my face kind of loyal. My loyalties lie with my heart, whether it be with a class of 12-18 month olds or a boy with soft hands and a cold heart. I have a habit of giving eight chances when most people would have stopped at one. Picture a girl with outstretched hands, reaching for a boy she knows will never give his heart to just one. She is stubborn and she refuses to give up without a fight. She stands tall through every bit of mistreatment thrown at her feet in return for the sweet smelling flowers laid at his door. She is strong. But maybe, I think, she is just naive. Life isn't a fairytale and he won't suddenly decide that she is worth his time. This endless game of cat and mouse is burning her out. Her own loyalty is veiling the endless chasm of manipulation and grief that she is about to fling herself into. And there I am, playing conscious, screaming on the sidelines to just give up. But she doesn't. Stupid, right? It's the Italian curse of perseverance, refusing to wave the white flag from the top of her tower. I was talking to a friend the other night after seeing that boy again and she asked me a seemingly simple question. “Do you regret it?” And I always knew questions like that were going to come my way but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all. Maybe it was the opportunity for me to finally admit the truth to myself. So I told her, “No- no, I don't regret it,” and for once I could look back on this love without a heavy heart or words burning in my throat, causing my voice to stumble and shake- instead I could accept it for what it was. “Just because it was confusing and painful and broken doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the good parts, the whole, unblemished, happy things. People come and go all the time; it's just a matter of when.” She just looked at me, with the same sense of realization in her eyes and then she asked, “Would you do anything different?” I never told her what I really thought, that there were so many things I would've held back or said sooner, so many times I wish I could've spent in his arms and so many times that I wish I would've put my foot down and said enough as loud as I say everything else. But instead I told her, “ I think I should've let him go before it was too late but, uh,” I let out a breathy chuckle and sipped my coffee, “it was too late.” Some names will always taste bitter and not everyone will see you as you really are and I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that my best may never be enough for the few people in my life I would give everything for. You can't keep thinking about everything you do for others and not think about yourself, but I still give thoughtlessly. I keep leaving bits of myself every place I go, the neat, unfair portions of myself dusted on tabletops, shirt-sleeves, and turf fields. They mark each curb as a part of my story, showing each ridge and valley as a change in my person. I haven't quite learned how to do my best without ripping myself apart at the seams, but that's okay. I'm still learning and growing, but maybe one day I can travel back in time and gather all the dusty pieces of myself up in a box and pack them away somewhere just to savor the feeling of being whole again. I wish this lesson was one I could look back on complete and whole and unscarred, but I'm replaying it from the side, porous and breathless and honestly, I wouldn't change it for the world. .
