Broken people are the strongest people I know. Their pain is so beautiful to me. I absorb it, and, like painting on a blank canvas, transform it into art.
I know how it feels, sitting there trying to figure out what you could have done differently. Playing scenarios over and over in your head. Analyzing texts, trying to figure out the exact moment things went wrong.
The truth is, I’m just something people enjoy ‘til they get bored. When the lights turn off and the jokes stop rolling, I’m terrified you’ll see how damaged I really am—and leave.
Trust that time heals.
We all want to be loved, yet we’re too afraid to give love a real chance. We take more than we give. We brag about how heartless we are. Dating has become a competition where the winner is the one who feels less.
I write jokes about it, I laugh it off, I reassure myself about how great it is to be single. But all I secretly want is to come home to someone who loves me and wants to hear everything about my day.
If he is into you, he will cherish the time you spend together and he won’t jeopardize it by talking to other women. Period.
I’m not being needy, we had plans and you never showed up.
I could sext you but I’d rather show you what I want to do to you.
Before date one, you have to ask yourself a critical question: Will pictures of you and your hypothetical new lover be a hit on Instagram? If the answer is no, how can he possibly be the one?