April

There was a time in April, years back, when I had my heart torn out and destroyed. I was preparing for exams, staying up to get the final pieces of information into my mind before I headed to bed. Though my studies were important, I was too focused on whether or not he would respond to my text messages, if he was okay as he hung out with a friend in celebration of his birthday. One on one.

I never trusted that girl, coincidentally named after the month I gave up on the idea of a relationship. I gave my warnings, but was ignored and judged as the jealous and controlling type; the emotional wreck with trust issues. Senseless judgments skewed by the sayings of one person. Any and every “I love you” following that night was another gash on my heart.

I was given up on when I never let go and no, I cannot simply “get over it.” I was not what he wanted, not what he was looking for, and never gave him what he truly wanted. To this day is bothers me.

"Am I good enough?"
"Am I enough?"

Thank you for creating the emotional wreck with trust issues, for destroying my sense of self and security for the years that followed.

I had my heart broken on Valentine’s Day.

Keaton Henson Petrichor
Keaton Henson
Petrichor

petrichor - keaton henson

pet·ri·chor: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather

thatkindofwoman:

After spending the winter in a relationship, this summer came quick and it came with a lot of eye openers.

I’ve been single the majority of my life. I’ve actually spent more time with tumblr than I have dating or being in a relationship. 

I broke up with my ex because I felt extremely detached from myself, among other things. So, I’ve become my own partner. It’s only me. I’m the one who I wake up to, who I go to sleep with.

I’m the one who motivates myself to do an extra power set when working out, or push myself a little harder to deeming a posture in my yoga practice. 

I’ve spent a lot of time alone since moving out of my parent’s house. And, well, that’s great and fine. It’s loving and fulfilling, it’s giving me the time to make my body, mind, and thoughts fully mine. It means I don’t have to worry about what someone else needs or wants from me as a partner. 

But there is something about hot summer nights, about wanting to read aloud to someone. About heading onto my roof, being able to reach out and rest my hand upon someone i trust. It’s about waking up at 4am and having someone who matters next to you. 

There’s something about the way the sun sets, and the laziness of this town. It makes my skin prickle. It makes my shoulders ache down to my fingertips to hold someone. Day trips with a lover. With a best friend. With a confidante. With someone who doesn’t mind that I’ve let paint flake off my skin after I spend hours painting my kitchen cabinets. Someone who doesn’t mind my wild hair. Someone who’ll play with me, the little games. Someone to dance with. 

Someone to kiss, lazy. Someone to kiss fast. Nibbles and tastes. 

I was driving today, passing a converted barn, I spotted a couple. A tan man without a shirt on grabbing the hips of a woman who was standing next to a sedan. He pulled her closer, away from the car with it’s driver door open. He kissed her goodbye, with abandon. His summer skin glowing and her mouth spread in a smile. It was a split second in time. A moment.

It was summer love. It was need and want, and to have and to grab. 

It’s about sweat, and rolling around in messy bedsheets. It’s about wading into pools, and creeks. Rolling up your sleeves to work on a project. About car rides with messy hair. It’s about hands on your waist and thighs. It’s about sneaking a butt squeeze.

It’s about spilling all the love you have for yourself into someone else, and taking the love they spill back. Smiling, testing with greedy hands, with some playful glances.

God damn. It’s summertime.