I am ready to love again.

I can't get over things that used to be mine. I get attached to things I want to call mine. And I get attached too easily, once I allow myself to. Once I do, I hold on too tight.

My thumb still lingers just a little bit on the home button. This time, just one minute less. My hand quivers at its unfamiliar grasp, however equal measurement they technically share, it just isn't the same. My nails, now trimmed and kept at an acceptable length, seeks the rough edges of the casing it used to rub itself to, like a nail file I'm used to the friction. The memory that could have been an amazing journey, with the extra glamour I added one last second before I lost it. The missing piece that completed the puzzle. It could have been a beautiful masterpiece, if only fate didn't teach me how not to invest on material things. 

However, each time I let go, I grab hold to another. Another rough casing to store in my memory. Another scratch I can pin point on my sleep. All the magnified flaws, I can draw even when my eyes are closed. And I knew. I knew I am ready to get attached again. 

I am ready to invest.

I am ready to love again.