After some shitty breakups I didn’t know what was me or what was another «us». You know, when you live/share things with another person, that things don’t really belong to you, or to the other person. Those things belong to whatever it was that existed between you and your partner(s), or at least that’s the way I percieve it. That «us» becomes a part of you, but, that new piece stucked to your being isn’t really yours, it’s like the home of that person built inside of you, which walls are covered with everything that you shared: songs, places, time, space, wishes, promises, lies, physical contact, emotions, color palettes, absolutely everything. Not long time ago, I came to realized that I wasn’t me anymore. I was (am) confused about what was real me or what was another «us». Those previously mentioned pieces collected over time never go, never. After some time you can live carrying them and don’t even noticing it, but you also don’t notice that you’ve changed, even if its a little bit, you’re different now. Love takes away parts from you and replaces them with something else, something else that now is out of your control. I’m afraid to change. Change my view of the world, change my thoughts, my feelings [are all those things really mine?], change untill i’m not «me» anymore , change untill there are no more «me» parts and I become some kind of mass made up of different parts that don’t match and only remain together because i’m still breathing. This of course hurts as hell.
These pieces don’t come only because of love. These pieces come in every experience form. The change is imminent. So don’t expect me to be the same nice girl you knew. I try to believe that these pieces make me a better person. Its funny and ironic how many people become good after they do bad. Is this a process (a very painful one) or just a phase? What i’m I supposed to do with your emty home inside of my chest?
Maybe it’s just because i’m a teen. A very confused one.