I do not allow myself to say that I ever truly loved, or that I ever will love. It’s a harsh truth I stuff underneath the “flirty” persona I play.
I throw myself at guys like I have nothing to lose. I tell myself, and my friends, that I’ve got nothing to lose, that where my heart should be is a field of burnt bridges. I tell people that I don’t believe in love but I can’t forget the way his hand felt on mine.
I loved once. I know I did. It’s something I’ve always been embarassed about. It’s something I don’t talk about until it’s past two in the morning and I am sad.
And I remember everything. I remember how I closed my eyes as he walked away, but I didn’t cry. Where my heart should have been, was an empty space, a riven. He left a riven in my chest and I never gained back enough self love to stitch it back up.