Post Traumatic Love Disorder

Once upon a time, a woman told me she loved me and then she broke my heart. Not only that, she broke my spirit. I suffer flashbacks, emotional memories that scream at me like a grenade going off.  Now there’s someone new in my life who gets me, really gets me.  I feel like my heart’s been collecting dust in a jar under the kitchen sink.  She wants to hold it and I want to let her.  My thoughts keep getting in the way.  I wonder if my insecurities are too heavy for her. I doubt hard. I love hard.  I’m not like Sunday morning.  I’m not easy.  I’m a poet, bruised by unrealistic movie sentiments and bittersweet literature. When she swoons, I feel it in places I didn’t know I had.  If that’s love then maybe there’s hope for me.

Notes

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    "I doubt hard. I love hard. I’m not like Sunday morning. I’m not easy. I’m a poet, bruised by unrealistic movie...
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