A's blog: "This is who I am."

I have questions that will never be answered, mostly because I don't know how to ask them. I can write down pages and pages of names of those I thought I knew, those I thought I could trust, those I thought of as my friends. You may not know it, but I can feel. I have a heart, or I had one, then I gave it away only to have it shattered and laid at my feet once again, and I don't know if I can pick it up and put it back together this time. I don't know if I want to. Perhaps that's the way it has to remain until someone finally comes along who can stick around long enough to cherish it.  Someone who can hold it in their hands and see that even though it isn't perfect and it's made of glass and it has cracks and fissures and rough spots, it's beautiful and it's worth it just to hang on and try. I have so much to give and so little to get. I sometimes think that I give myself to the wrong people, and that it's all my fault when they walk away or can't hang on just long enough to see that I am worth it. And it is my fault. I ask for too much, I expect too much, I need, I want. And then when it all crumbles, I'm left to pick it up and start over, while they can just move on to something bright and shiny and new, and forget that regardless of what they believe I do have feelings. I can hurt. I can feel pain. But this time, I think I'll just leave all those tiny shards right there on the ground, because I don't have the strength to bend down and pick them up and put them back the way they're supposed to be. Who knows, maybe the janitor will come by and sweep them up and dump them in the trash and I won't have to worry about ever having to give them away to anyone again. Instead I can be nothing, which is what it seems I am. Nothing.