It Had To Be You

I think the best part about leaving someone is that knowing in your heart that it’ll pass. Whatever feeling you’re feeling about the connection being over with it —to know in your heart that with each passing minute of the day, the hurt will slowly pass through you. For whatever reason, my creative self selfishly tries to hold on to it.

One of my favorite poems I’ve ever written is called “Falling.” I want to share it with you all:

Falling  

My mind falls 

And then my heart 

And lastly, my soul 

My soul is the first to pick me up 

And then my heart 

And lastly my mind follows suit 

I’ve wondered why my soul is always the first  

To rise up and save me from my perturbed mind.  

Why my soul steadily saves my shackled consciousness of  

The fruitless thoughts that planted itself within  

Why I always imitate my heart’s declarations when, in reality,  

It is my soul that whispers to me the next step that I follow.  

It’s why I don’t believe in feelings that are fabricated,  

It’s why I don’t trust things my mind constantly has to question  

It’s why I don’t believe in artificial connections that fail to see my heart and soul.  

And it’s why I don’t believe in whatever the hell the world tells its lost people who  

Frantically search for a temporary fix and bombard me because I feel secure. 

I won’t apologize for trying to heal 

And I won’t apologize for being decent 

But in the end,  

My mind falls,  

And then my heart,  

And lastly, my soul 

But my soul is always the first to pick me up. 

———-

I wrote this poem my senior year of college in 2020. In 2020, I believed in God, but I turned away from walking in Christianity. It actually wasn’t until this year where I’ve felt safe enough to actually call a church my home. Shoutout to Overflow!!! Reading this in 2025, it’s kind of funny thinking about who was the one actually picking me up through everything. I hope you felt Him while reading this.

My favorite thing about being a writer is being able to teleport back into the person you were when you wrote something. I can tell you the exact place I wrote this poem and who I was when I wrote it. I can tell you broke my heart and who was there helping me mend it. I’m not here to tell anyone how to live their life, but I recommend getting a journal. Write in it, fevershily, like your life depends on it. I’d argue it kind of does. you cna learn from your younger self.