No matter how kind, no matter how smart, how visionary, if they made you question your self-worth, I don't think they're worth it.
It's not a matter of how fragile your self-worth or your own sense of self validation is. As humans, there's only so much we can take before we start to wear.
We can not grow by ourselves, just as we can not be with the people who deny our growth, much less, people who demand that we stagnate in the name of faux principles.
I have never regret anything more than my childish decision to stop studying music when I was younger, just because none of my friends were interested in classical music. Not even when I failed one of my applied chemistry courses in university.
I once called you an Angel because you seem to have a halo faintly glowing above, wherever you go.
I swear you have one of the most angelic voices I've ever heard, sometimes it even soothed the raging edges of my wayward soul.
And you do. You truly do.
I swear I told myself I might have found a shelter in your hands-- smaller but warmer, and your rose-scented wisdom.
But then I realize I should never have trusted myself to anchor my jagged edges to any haphazardly alluring kindness which comes my way. Because as much as I believed and loved you, it was apparent where your sentiments are. I was not one you bestowed them on. Maybe I just never really deserve you. And I see it far too late.
I could finally see that I don't really need your heavenly grace to straighten my erratic storms.
Now, sometimes the sound of your voice just made me feel nauseous. Even the mention of your pretty name snapped my heartstring and halted my heart to stutter.
I don't need the light from your halo to help me find a way out of the ravenous darkness which threatens to swallow me daily.
I don't really need your words of wisdom after all,
“If you ask me do I love you, I have to tell you that I have never loved you, not even now, not tomorrow. In this way, I can begin to love you again and again because there is no past. This is the way the moon unbuttons the stars as it passes overhead. The way even the most distant galaxies continue to tug on us. This is the way I love you.”
— Richard Jackson, from “If You Ask Me,” Resonance: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2010)
Genuinely amazed at people who are allegedly able to concentrate studying or writing essay while listening to whole concertos. I mean, they're distracting. They demand your attention.