In a former life, I often said I was an eternal Juliet.
I love LOVE.
I love being able to share passion and space with a special person or people.
And yet, coming off this last break up of someone that I wanted forever with? The man that called me Baroness to his Destro? The one who called me Padme to his Anakin? That one hurt…badly. Do you know how wounded a love poet has to be in order for that poet to put down her pen?
I had to readjust my focus, I had to heal–and I let myself be mad.
The Love Poet had to heal. Juliet had to remember who she was…and truly, if I am honest–that was hard.
I had to admit that I was tired of starting over. I had to admit that I stayed longer, endured more, for the sake of being chosen. I had to admit that I lost myself.
And I had to admit that I was scared to love again. Terrified, really.
But in getting back to this first work, I had to remember…love. And I am worthy of it.