It's A Jungle Out There.

In the dead of night, I sat with him. He cried to me, revealing to me all that he had did, leaving me speechless as to how to handle it. He loved me and I loved him back but I couldn't bare the thought of him leaving me alone, leaving me to my thoughts and to face all that I was using him to escape from.

It's a jungle out there. To love and already be caught up in a situation that makes you feel as though you have to give up what makes you happy, that's his fault, he knew what he signed up for, his karma was served to him heavy. He though he could do to me, what he did to the others and that backfired, immensely. You can't play a good woman, it will backfire eventually. I could never hate him though, he was already caught in a situation that he was comfortable in, accepting all that she threw at him, feeling as though that was as good as it could get. It's none of my business though. I didn't know her and I didn't know them. I knew him but I didn't know who he was when he was with her. I knew who he was when he was with me, a loving liar. He was erratic, sweet, unstable, and loving, He was confusing and addictive . He had the ability to make me want to burn holes in him with my gaze and make me melt at the same damn time. I resented him for it. Why would he make me feel and believe these things if they were just words. He meant it but he couldn't act on it, therefore the words were worthless.

I was the sun, warm, bright, optimistic, and blinding. He was the moon, dark, mysterious, hidden, and grey. Militant, he was a soldier. Not an active member of the army but a warrior of life. An angel of war as he liked to call it. I was as scared as I was intrigued by him, I grew to like him, he was alluring.

To sit here and try to figure out someone's heart who doesn't have the slightest of clue what love is , is a jungle. It's messy and risky. He knew love by what he could gain from it. A slight narcissist but not because he was self-centered but because he was all he knew, he felt he was all he had. He didn't trust anyone but himself, he didn't have anyone but himself. He had those he took care of and a few people he trusted as family but even then, he was weary. He loved those that loved him but he was scarred, he didn't like the idea of opening up and really showing himself. He did that for me. It was jungle, his history and emotions so rugged, raw, and dirty, I didn't judge him. Not to denounce all his wrong doings but it's not about that. I loved him and it made me happy that he felt safe revealing the most vulnerable parts of himself to me. It was something that I had to really take in but still, I didn't judge him. I couldn't, this man who I desired and wanted to punch in the face so badly, had such an effect on me, he drove me wild and made me melt, all in one. He met me. He couldn't get enough but he couldn't GIVE enough. I was his karma for the way he treated every other woman who he involved himself with under false and harsh intensions. This is not to boast, but something to show you that even in the darkest of nights you can find a love that would make you want to live right or force you too. It's not about me though, this is about him. I felt like in a way he was my karma too, he was a lesson to stop giving myself to men who are only able of expressing themselves through what is between their legs, to stop using men as an escape from my reality. This is more of a reflection for my own sake. Also for his own sake, to remember in the darkest of heartbreaks to find the reasoning of what makes someone who they are. As much as turmoil as he had within him, I felt for him.

We jumped in way too fast, we thought that we would be able to control our emotions and our bodies. He was just supposed to be a stress reliever, a potential lover. I was just supposed to be a conquest to him. That's what we told ourselves and we both lied. With every encounter we gained a piece of each other. In such a short time, I wrapped myself around him, physically and emotionally. Hoping that my love would be enough for him to just try for real this time. To love me and never let me go. He couldn't do it. He didn't allow himself a love so pure that it would wash away the sins and curses of the thousands of generations in which he arose from. He loved me, quietly. I loved him back but it wasn't enough. He was so scarred from the previous "loves", loves so toxic and violent that he gave up on love thinking that his past was all he would ever know. His heart was petrified. "I could have f*cked 100 other women if I wanted to, but all I could think about was you." Those are the words he would speak to me, as trifling as they sounded, for him they were an expression of his thoughts. I loved him but I could never tell him that. He fought with his own feelings for me, but on drunken nights he came to me and said to me words so sweet, I clung to them thinking they were real. They were real but they were all he ever made them to be, words, just words. His actions didn't match the degree of affection, attention, and nurturing that he swore it did. He said he was trying but I had the scars to say that he was a liar. He played me and within that sense , I played myself. Raw emotions is what he showed me, I felt for him, and like the empath that I am I ate it up. I loved him still, with ugly wounds that had begun to form from the harsh things he did, the bitter words he spoke to me, the unsaid words, the unsent texts. He told me, sorry but after a while sorry didn't mean much, what am I supposed to do with a sorry. You took the sweetest of my actions and intentions and dangled it like a piece of meat in front of a hyena, not sure whether you're ready to indulge in it or save it for later. You played me, you played with my body, trying to ingrain yourself with every stroke you pushed inside of me, using what was between your legs to tell me you were sorry , the word had lost its purpose, I couldn't do it.

I didn't care materialistically about what he had, I wanted his love, affection, and kindness. He didn't know how to love, so being with me was like trial and error for him. I didn't want him for anything he couldn't provide internally. I could do the rest on my own, I just wanted him to love me, understand me, think of me before himself sometimes, like I did for him. He didn't know how to do that, he didn't try as hard as he tried to convince me he was trying. I spited him for it yet I never truly hated him, because I accepted everything it, out of love and foolishness. I never spoke those words. Words are powerful and I would never bound his identity within my head with the idea of something so unwelcoming and toxic as the feeling of hate. I was hurt, extremely. Deep down through all the pain, I loved him still. He crept in my mind daily, playing within my emotions like a puppet master. He still loved me. I knew it, he knew it. I still loved him, I knew it , but I wasn't sure if he knew it. It was weird, there was so much love but as much as it could right there in front of us, between us, it could be ushered away just as fast. His feelings could swap one moment and he could feel differently the next, on the outside at least.

It's a jungle out there, like many, he had been a victim of the system, maybe that's why I felt for him. He didn't grow up like I did, he didn't have it like I had it, I'm thankful and grateful for my experiences, as much as I've had my faults, moments, and downfalls, but it's not about me. He had spoke to me, words that were hard for me to digest, things that made me question how he was so strong knowing that the very things he told me would make me break down if I would have experienced them firsthand. God forbid. I thank the most high for those that have entered my life, those that guide, and protect myself and my family, but, once again, it's not about me. I thought about him, more than he knew. That one thing I admired was he was always himself, no matter how much he flexed, was sorrowful, sad, angry, he was always himself. Now, I am not here justifying someone's anger or toxic traits but to a degree I appreciated the authenticity. We loved each other, on drunken nights his lips spoke a sober man's thoughts, he loved me. When he would use words like we instead of I, when I would see little bits of his ego and pride crumble as I spoke to him letting him know he was safe with me. I am not perfect either but we had both plunged and I had no intention on hurting him. I fantasized about our life together, getting caught up in daydreams of the idea of us being together, being a family. He wanted a family with me. I didn't entertain that idea at all, reiterating that I was young and that at one point I would want a family but only when I was ready. He loved me so much, he said yet it scared him too. How do you run from what you love? I wondered just how hurt inside he was. It's a jungle out there.

Stupidly, I left the door of opportunity to love me open, and he shut it in my face. In reality, I closed it in his face, tired of the games, the hurt, the tears and everything. However, before I even touched the door, he had already started to close it. I was lost, I felt as though when I told him to leave ,he took part of me with him. He took a part of my light when he left and ran off with it, as a result of our after dark encounters I discovered I carried around with me, a part of his darkness. For 6 weeks, hidden, messy, and confusing, I released a part of him.

He brought to light a side of me that was so understanding yet so strong. As far as being understanding, he allowed me to hear the realest sides of people without judging them and making them feel shamed. I listened and I loved him, that's it. He made me strong because he allowed me to leave someone who I thought I loved so deeply but couldn't live up to the standard of love that I required for myself.

Still, I sat and I daydreamed about us as well, I never told him. In my mind I held him to a higher standard then I showed in real life. In my mind he was whoever I wanted him to be. Of course I was learning who he was but I couldn't stop thinking about him. As mean, nasty, and disorienting as he could get, I understood him because I saw him, underneath the mask and facades he wore to others. The empath in me allowed me to accept it because I knew deep down his inner turmoil wasn't about me, it was about himself. Yet, what my higher self wanted me to learn was that I cannot do someone's healing for them. I cannot be someone's punching bag, or their trail and error, or the one to catch the blows as he tries to figure his life out. He was so used to chaos and heartbreak that he had strayed from the idea of every finding a love he thought never existed. He was proven wrong, he had to learn the hard way. He took me for granted. I learned my lesson as well. It was a moment of growth for both of us.

We had to hurt each other to the core in order to be reborn into the people we had signed up to be. Before our own births we had decided which type of person we would be and the universe provided us the environment and experiences to become who we needed to be. Not to blame the universe for everything that happens in our our lives but more so to say that along with our free will we had our lives shaped to allow us to become who we NEED to be. We met for a reason, he wasn't looking for love. I was looking for an escape, we both went into this situation with other worldly intentions and fell in love. It began an awakening within us, a tower moment that forced us to face all that we ran from. We had to do the inner work.

I had to sit with my abandonment and attachment issues, I clung to the idea of him, knowing in reality that he was not capable of giving himself what he needed, let alone me. He clung to me because he has been hurt before and he loved yet ran from the love I gave him. Hot and Cold. I cried, in the dark at night, when the loneliness would hit me the most. I was paralyzed, almost unrecognizable to the person I was before him. I didn't feel like myself.

Here. Still standing, months later. I still love him but I no longer call for me, I don't wait for him in the middle of the night wondering if todays the day he finally faces me. I once wanted him to finally take the lead and make the decision of what he wanted to do, for himself. I could awaken the love within him but I couldn't make him want to love himself or me properly. It was the hardest to get to this point, almost a year later, I feel like I'm discovering the parts of myself that I had once buried deep down. These days, he occupies less space in my mind, however still buried deep within my heart. I had to learn the patience to allow him to reinvent himself, to blossom. We all have to sit with ourselves, our flaws, wrong doings, rights, tendencies, and habits. It's no one else's job to direct our inner turmoil or to mold us into who we want to be. I tried to run from what I knew and life sat me on my ass, a painful yet necessary lesson. I will never find the solutions to my own inner issues through someone else. It's a jungle out there, it's our responsibility to trek and navigate through it, in order to find ourselves.