I did not willingly let half of my soul leave my body. It was torn from me. I still hear the ransomed moans. It calls to me for rescue, yet clings to its abductor.

... I don't know what I feel anymore, or maybe it's that I don't know HOW to feel anymore. I question every move I make, every breath I take, and every flutter of an eyelash. I've developed a twitch from always being on guard. I'm alert at night, and numb during the day, but I'm always ready. Maybe, I can intercept tragedy from striking again.

I hurt in places that you brought back from the dead. Now I have to lay them to rest again.

Having to explain to someone how they hurt you, always feels like an ass kicking... again.

Just because she doesn't talk about it, doesn't mean she isn't feeling it. She hurts, but she won't wear it on her sleeve. She will never let an illness, a diagnosis, or a prediction, define her. She doesn't want sympathy, because that type of attention is not her goal. She'd rather you see the woman who smiles in the face of adversity, than be the one who begs you to see her frown.

To the person in my future...I hope you're ready, because I'm going to love you... fiercely. You'll never have to suffer for my past heartache. It's taught me that I need love more than the absence of it. I'm not perfect, nor is my track record. I've experienced a lot of takers in my life - but I'll love you with every part of me that remains.