On My Second Glass Of Whiskey.

on my second glass of whiskey.

You don’t even know how much love you’ve stolen from yourself while trying to maintain unhealthy relationships with people who have proven time and time again that they’ll never be able to love you the way you deserve. You don’t even know how much time you’ve robbed yourself of. All those late nights and early mornings, spent chasing the thought of a person who rarely even thought about you.

You don’t know, and I wish you did. I wish the love you wasted on others would somehow have found its way back to you, but you insisted on finding someone new after every person you lose, not realizing they were never actually losses because you never had them in the first place. I wish you knew that they were never losses because they were never valuable enough to be that, but you were always everything, and you were always giving your everything to a person who insisted on doing nothing, giving nothing. Using you up until they deemed you to be empty every time they were finished. You don’t even know, but I wish you did, or maybe you’ll finally get it after reading these words.

r.h. sin, Empty Bottles Full of Stories