THE MESS THAT I AM

It’s the bartender from two blocks away.

He called you last night.

Apparently, gulping down twelve bottles of stout at 3 a.m. on a Tuesday dawn is perilous.

He thought I was bonkers and wouldn’t let me drown my sorrow the only way I know how.

Fourteen times. Fourteen times, he called for you to come get me....you were my only emergency contact. Fourteen times, it went to voicemail.

I deserve it, I know.

I called for it.

You are the perfect one. Me, I’m fatally flawed.

For every step you took towards me, towards making what we had work, I took two backwards.

My heart got too damaged early, and I didn’t have it in me to do anything about it.

Then, along you came, picking up every piece you could find, dusting them up and fitting them in their right places. For each missing piece, you carved out a piece of yours to fit.

And what did I do? I pushed you away, baby.

Just when things were getting good, my love-starved heart had to fumble. Making a mess of good things is what my heart knows. It’s all it has been taught.

You came with a love that I wasn’t used to.

Love that gave space for vulnerability, not demanding strength from me when I couldn’t give it

I mean, isn’t love supposed to take and take and take? Isn’t it supposed to hurt? Where is the pain that accompanies it? Why did it feel sweet, instead?

You were different.

You were perfect.

I’m a gray sky, and you made me realize that gray skies are also beautiful.

I wasn’t ready.

Now you’re gone and I’m here,

Realizing that this is all on me.

So, for those days that I didn’t give you the chance to love me, I’m sorry.

For all those days when I intentionally wouldn’t answer the phone when you called, I apologise.

For all the days I yelled at you and made you feel less of a man, forgive me, baby.

For every single time you said, “I love you,” and got a smirk as response, I’m terribly sorry!

For all the times you put me first while I made you an option, I regret it.

I let you drift away and now, my heart can’t take it.

I’m sure you ran out of patience.

I’m sure you got tired of trying.

I would too, if I met someone like me.

And I wish I could say to you to move on and find happiness elsewhere, but I’m selfish.

I need you to give me this chance again: the chance to be yours, and the chance to be wanted by you.

I’ll sit at my door post tonight and wait for you.

If there’s a slight chance that you still love this mess that I am,

If you still have pieces of you to give,

If hearing me say, “I love you” for the first time is worth anything at all,

Then do come by.

I’ll wait for you.

Mz. Sefa♥️