I'm not supposed to be the one that misses anyone. I'm supposed to just, let it go, be the standoffish person that everyone expects me to be. To not open up because I've promised myself I won't again. But I always do. I always let my mouth open and my heart unfold, and it always gets burnt up into peices. Peices of my body, and my heart, and my fucking soul are no longer mine. They have been claimed, touched by those I held so close so many times, and when they were gone, the peices were left. They were warm, and scary to have inside, and I let them blacken and die. So they no longer belong to me. They hadn't since they were touched, and that emotion from the other filled it to beat full of joy, only to be run off by some outside force, the want to leave, or my own inability to let the feeling grow. And now I have another peice ready to die inside of me. It hurts. It's raw and open, bleeding, and I'm scared of it.