Hard to Love

You’re hard to love because you’re a collection of broken pieces, glued together by the purple stick sitting in that child’s pencil box. You’re hard to love because your heart refuses to let anyone in; it asks for a secret password only the man you resent can unlock. You’re hard to love because your body remembers pain before it recognizes joy, before it can produce a sound of pure laughter or feel the comfort of innocent ease.


But you’re hard to love, he won’t admit, for different reasons.


You’re hard to love because you express your suffering as easily as you discuss the weather, drawing the anger that boils in your heart on paper like mankind scars the ground with streaks of blood. You’re hard to love because you were a child whose heart was slammed into a cage. But the truth is you were never meant to be set free; you were only meant to be free.


This is what he refuses to see, refuses to acknowledge. It shakes him to the core that you make known the fury that burns within, and he hates your desire for power and independence.


But you smile a bit to yourself when he says you’re hard to love, because you know that a deeper part of him sees you as a challenge. He rejects ease, rejects a blank canvas and a free heart. He likes to help the injured bird so he can tell his friends it is he who gave it healing, purpose, hope.


This is why it doesn’t offend you when he calls you hard to love. It delights you in a twisted way. It is the proof you were looking for: that he, in his blindness, believes he should control you. Change you. But little does he know that you could give him the breath he needs just to snatch it away, that you could mold him into the sculpture your eyes find delight in just to break him as you will.


So you say, “I‘m sorry you find me difficult to love,” and you walk away, nonchalant with every step. You know you don’t need to say a word more, because you’ve already planted a seed in his mind. You’ve stirred up a pulsing desire within him.


In a week, as you stand silently alone in your kitchen, your revealed skin smelling of sugar and spice, the man will knock on your door, and you’ll open it, feigning confusion. As if you didn’t know he would and could never pass up a challenge, even if it meant falling right into your hands.

 

"From Her" will feature short vignettes written from the female perspective. They may explore topics such as power dynamics, women's issues, trauma, intimacy, romantic relationships, friendships, etc. Follow for more! :)