How Am I The Lucky One?


I just want this to end. 
I want to be over it, I want to be free.
Free from you, free from the worry I’ll never find another person willing to let me in.
Free from wondering if what I thought was the right choice three years ago actually wasn’t.
Free from plaguing myself with the idea that you were actually it and now I’m left with nothing but regret and bitter hope that maybe one day you will change your mind.

My mind.
A scary shipwreck of a place inhabited by ghosts from every mistake I’ve ever made.
And I’m still not sure if you are one of them.
You run through my mind like an old home movie on a projector screen, except it always cuts out right before we say “I do.”

I don’t know if I am meant for more than this.
If I will ever find peace with him
Or my heart
Or myself for letting this all happen.

Supposedly, I am the lucky one for letting you go and moving on from the pain.

But see that’s the thing, I tried to let go, but I got scared and held you still as you fell. 
It’s been three years, and I still can’t let go
Of this place, of the pain, of your smile and of every scathing word you spoke to me.

I think that deep down, I want this. 
I want to feel hurt, I want to feel sad.
I can find myself much more easily in my sadness than I ever could in joy.
Call it self-sabotage or just bad luck, but I’m stuck in it, wallowing even, and here I was assuming you would be my way out.
My light at the end of the tunnel,
The “aha” moment they always tell you about in movies.

But I was wrong.
And I think that most of the time we are because we try so desperately to figure out and solve the ones we like, we try to compartmentalize them into these neat little sections of our lives.
We see them for purely face value and assume we know it all long before we even begin to breach the surface.

But we don’t know it all.

It’s impossible to ever truly know someone because no matter how much you pry and pry, you’ll never be able to get into their heads. 
They will only say so much, and we will be certain that we’ve got them all figured out, that we understand their every move, breath, and emotion.
But we don’t.

The day will come where our assumptions will fail us, and we’ll be so shocked, standing there, empty handed as the box we’ve built crumbles before our very eyes.

Be careful of the world you build for yourself as each piece is never truly as real as we make it. Each piece can only stand for as long as its foundation will hold it, and with a foundation built solely on assumptions and “should be’s”, our walls can only stand for so long.

Written By Becky Curl

Bio: I am a freelance writer, make-up artist, and wig designer from Chicago, IL. Art is my life.

Twitter: @curl_becky - Instagram: @becky_curl - Facebook: @curl.becky - Website: