Ivy

Life in our twenties can be frightening, unexpectedly so. We’re supposed to be living our best life, and instead we have consistent moments of heart-wrenching dread, where we’re wrought with the sensation of falling off the edge of the cliff. Sometimes we even drive ourselves off it. It’s moments where we look at the balance of our bank account. When we pass another year closer to thirty and we don’t have a husband or kids or a house or any part of our life together. Where we make that decision to end a relationship based on the horrible gut feeling that it isn’t quite right. That it isn’t forever. That no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t make ‘us’ fit.


Some of us stay with the wrong people because we're terrified of never finding anyone again. That is the worst mistake. Because we can't see whether the grass is greener on the other side. The fence is too high. There are too many questions, too many doubts, too many fears. So we stay with that someone, the one who wraps us up in ivy vines and keeps us rooted to their house of stone and their poison, and we think it's okay there. We know we're trapped, but we pretend it's meant to be. That things will get better. That we'll be able to change them.


Don't let it cover you. Light it up, burn it down, turn your back and walk away. The smoke will clear, eventually. And new flowers will bloom, in time.






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