Glass Hearts by Lisa De Jong

Author:Lisa De Jong [Jong, Lisa De]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

One really quick way to make yourself feel like shit is to make the woman you love cry. I didn’t mean to snap at her last night, but I was frustrated when my mom left and took it out on her. My mom always runs away, but Alex proved that she would stay by my side even when things get tough. Why should she be punished for that?

Truth is, I’m used to being left alone. I’m used to facing everything myself. But now I have Alex, and for whatever reason, she sticks with me even when I push her away. God, I don’t deserve her.

When I calmed down enough to go to bed last night, I didn’t expect to see her body shaking under the covers. She was there, on my bed, head resting on a tear stained pillow. It felt like I had two hands wrapped around my heart squeezing the life out of me when I climbed in as close as I thought she would let me get. I hated myself; I’m just lucky her love runs deeper than my anger.

Today I want to do something fun to wash away the memory of last night. Art became a way for me to express myself after I cleaned myself up and got my shit together. Drugs were a way for me to bury my emotions, and those emotions didn’t go away just because I was sober. My counselor at rehab used to tell me over and over that I needed to find a way to express my feelings so that I wouldn’t be tempted to go back to drugs every time something pissed me off. He asked what I was good at, and I told him I can see the beauty in things that other people can’t.

One day as part of my therapy, he brought me to an art show in the city…coincidently in the same park that Alex had her first art show. There was a guy who was doing some sculpting with a crowd surrounding him. I watched him work, sweeping over the metal with tools in his hands. I was obsessed and immediately asked him if he could show me how to do it when he took his next break. I haven’t stopped since. It defines, cleanses and centers me. It’s who I am.

Tattoos are a form of art in my eyes. Some people see them as an act of defiance or rebellion, but to those who get them, they’re a form of expression and remembrance. All of mine mean something to me. Some are there to remind me of things, or people who I never want to forget. Some are there to fill up the space between, but I picked them because of their design and beauty.

I want to take the certificate Alex gave me for Valentines and permanently bind myself to her. Even if we aren’t together forever, which I’m damn well going to make sure we are, she’ll always mean something to me, and I’ll always carry her with me.

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