i buried myself inside of you

"I took all my feelings, my wants and needs, my dreams and I buried them inside you. I planted myself inside you and waited to bloom. And it didn't take no eighteen years to find out the soil was hard and rocky and it wasn't never gonna bloom." -Rose

 
 Artist: Vince Low
Muse: Viola Davis as Rose Maxson
Movie: Fences
i pulled myself apart; slowly placed pieces of me in your soul.  
within the body of the man whose arms melted away my woes.
never questioning whether it would be the final resting place of my dreams because i was anxious to see them come into fruition through you. 
how i hoped you'd flourish and I'd be able to propagate from youblossoming into the woman i dreamed of with your aid. 
how i hoped it would be a temporary place until i found time in-between loving you & becoming all the things you needed me to be. 
yet, as i showered you with every bit of light i could find within my soul, patiently waiting for you to fructifyyou planted yourself in someone else. 

i dont know what hurts more; the fact that i naively planted in a barren place or having to live knowing pieces of me died inside of her.
-Kamry Marie
The lost of identity is very real when we fall in love. 
Love cannot only blind us but hide us. Decompose our true identity. 
As we draw closer to another human being and  merge two realms into one, we adapt in so many ways. 
 What they love becomes what we love. Me-time becomes our time. 
Our goals are put on hold to help fulfill their desires.
We get so wrapped up in showing love that sometimes we forget that holding on to our identity is a reflection of self love. Love we can't forget to provide ourselves so that we can pour from a full glass.
We're willing to lose our sense of identity so that our heart can feel full. 
Love is life's drug and having a daily dose makes us believe anything outside of the romance doesn't really matter; anything else is a bonus. Love is worth it until it's no longer reciprocated and we're willing to rip our lovers apart to find every pieces of ourselves that we buried in them. Even then, all the compassion that's converted into anger can settle and we hold on to hope. Hope sometimes converts that unproductive soil into fruitful conditions.
Sometimes, hope runs dry.

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