I’m probably one of the most independent people anybody would ever know. I’ve always been the person to do it, and fly solo while making it happen. However, there are times where the overachiever in me takes a back seat to the needy little girl who is lost, confused, and in an emotional state of disparity.
So how is it that one can stumble upon this little girl? Taunt me with the one thing I cannot obtain by my sole efforts: love. She rears her depressive head at the low melody of the typical love song describing the ideal perfect love affair that lives in our deep-seated psyche only to be brought up by these songs. She comes out playfully at any slight notion of someone who she thinks is going to be there to love her unconditionally and be there for her as her guardian from the dark in the night. She appears, crying, when she see that the one she fell in love with didn’t reciprocate the emotion.
Yes, she’s the little girl that lives in all of us; the one that pains us internally to see hurt and crying, while we try to act as the protective barrier to the outside by concealing her from anybody who may spot her and take advantage of her vunerability.
The little girl that lives in all of us women is yearning, wanting, waiting, needing, and longing to be held by the protector that is supposedly designated for never leading her astray and breaking her trust. A message to the gentlemen passing by: don’t make her cry; she is precious and deserves to be loved as anyone else.
(This post was taken from The Somewhat-Positive Social Commentary, a blog by yours truly.)
