We tend to like the evens
Liking the ability to perfectly divide
No halves, only wholes
No odd ones out, nothing remaining
Even numbers are easy, perfect
While odd numbers seem imperfect, problematic
But there is a beauty in the uneven that may appear as inconvenient remainders
What is a life if it is only perfection?
A life is never even
Never being able to perfectly divide your friends for dodgeball
Or never being able to make things exactly as you plan
But the uneven
It can bring a beauty that lies in the halves and cracks that come from those divides
The divides that are imperfect are perfect in themselves
via Daily Prompt: Uneven
I ask myself a thousand times what it means to love you.
I ask myself if it’s okay to be sad when you choose her over me.
I ask myself why I care so much.
I ask myself how I became this person who puts your needs above my own when you least deserve it.
I ask myself how in the hell did I let you deceive me into thinking I was someone you cared about.
I ask myself why do I value your opinion over the one who has helped me to become the person who loves unconditionally.
I ask myself how can I be upset with the part of me that cares so deeply.
I ask myself how come you don’t love me.
I ask myself why I give a shit about love when I’m only nineteen with a beautiful life ahead of me.
I ask myself why do I never blame you for making me feel this way.
I ask myself why I can never put my overwhelming feelings aside and hate you if only for a moment.
I never ask you why you pretended to care.
I never ask you what fun it is to see my genuine smile and know you’re only playing a game.
I never ask you why someone else’s happiness is a joke to you.
I’ve asked myself a hundred times what it means to beautiful in your eyes.
I ask myself why does it matter if I see beauty in mine.