Anxious Thoughts

Venny Soldan-Brofeldt

Artist, sculptor, and jewelry designer.

Hard to Love – Part II

In the tapestry of life, some dance in the spotlight, their names etched in golden letters upon the hearts of others. The chosen ones are the recipients of love’s tender caress, and they bask in the warmth of adoration. 

Yet, amidst the scope of affection, there exists a corner where I reside—a place untouched by the gentle hand of destiny, where the ache of solitude casts its heavy shadow.

I have walked a path adorned with invisible footprints, my presence felt but never truly embraced. Like a forgotten melody, I linger in the background, a mere echo to the symphony of others’ lives. 

Time and time again, I find myself at love’s doorstep, only to be met with a closed door and whispered apologies. 

I am the eternal understudy, forever waiting in the wings, never to take centre stage in another’s heart.

I have witnessed the blossoming of affection, the tangling of souls, and the ecstasy of shared moments. 

I have stood on the ledge of love’s embrace, my heart gashing to taste its sweet nectar. Yet, fate plays a cruel hand, and I am left to marvel at love’s ethereal dance from a distance—forever a spectator, never a participant.

***

In the realm of faded hues, where the world loses its vibrancy, my pale eyes wander, seeking solace in the souls of others. Their vibrant spirits dance from one person to another, finding their place in the hearts of many—everyone, it seems, except for me.

There he stands, a monumental figure with shoulders that carry the weight of his vulgar existence. He insists that he cherishes me, and so I unfold myself in his presence, like a fragile flower blooming for his eyes alone.

We entwine ourselves in the illusion of love, our souls colliding in a dance miming affection. But as time passes, doubts creep in, and I question whether our love is real or simply a mirage in the desolate landscape of my heart.

He moulds me into his vision of perfection, bending and shaping me until I become a figment of his desires. He hushes me when he's bored, only to be awakened and enjoyed when he finds himself alone, craving me.

In his eyes, I gleam, transforming into the embodiment of his desires. I chirp and howl, desperate to please him in every conceivable way. I am addicted to his touch, his validation, unable to fathom who I am without him.

But soon, he drops my name, classifying me as nothing more than "another.” I abandon my identity, convinced that as long as he’s having fun, it somehow justifies my misery.

I’m sorry, I plead, promising to improve, to hide my pain better, to weep in silence, to wither away more swiftly. The “relationship” evolves, as he nibbles on the affections of two other girlfriends alongside, leaving me feeling like a morsel on the side.

He sips from my essence slowly until I am hollowed out, a vacant shell devoid of life. Eventually, I find the strength to leave, realizing that I have become nothing more than a vessel of misery, a fallacy, a tragic spectacle. 

I have become too difficult to love.

And in his eventual departure, he sneaks away with a part of me, leaving me forever incomplete.
I have never felt whole since.

[But hey, ____, it’s true. I know I'm hard to love. 
I am burdened with my own complexities, my own insecurities, and my own wounds. 
The world has sunk it's fangs into my flesh and sucked the joy out of my lungs. 
I wish I was more appealing, less complicated. 
But, this is God's will. 
I was born to endure, to be sacrificed, to mend...]

In the quiet of solitude, the ache seeps into my bones, etching its mark upon my spirit. I have become well acquainted with the empty spaces, the voids that yearn to be filled with genuine affection. 
I am a mere afterthought in love’s grand design.

"Too hard to love,
girls like you end up on the margins of life, overlooked by God's mercy,"

And, 
maybe, I am hard to love, 
but perhaps 
there exists someone in this vast universe who is searching for a love like mine—flawed and shattered.


In the vast expanse of possibility, where hearts collide and souls intertwine, there is a flicker of anticipation. 

Maybe, 
hidden within the cosmetics, there exists a love that defies expectations, a love that embraces imperfections and cherishes the essence of who I am.
love, in its myriad forms, can find its way to girls like me. 
for, there is a place where love waits, ready to embrace us, 
flawed and extraordinary, 
just as we are.
Daily writing prompt
Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.
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Anxious Thoughts

Navigating life’s uncertainties, one word at a time

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