Okay, so he might not love me. And I will cry for so many nights that I lose count, lose hope, lose my mind. My heart has always been a slow healer, so don't be surprised if I suddenly mention his name after three years and three shots of tequila. You will think that I've forgotten, that I reclaimed my heart and hid it so deep in my bones that people start to wonder if he really did make me heartless. Know this- I will cry on the busride home, aching for his drunken hands on my skin, staring at my phone thinking that maybe, maybe, his hands suddenly don't know what to do when they are not tangled into mine. It will take years. And it will hurt like nothing ever has. 

But know this- I will be okay. It won't last forever. So he does not love me, but he does not decide my worth. For the first time in over ten years I am loved. Not by a man, not my friends. I love me. I have fallen head over heels with the way I survive everything that comes in my way, the way I can turn every broken bone into poetry. Even the way my belly looks when I lie on the side, my cheeks when I smile. And it will take one hell of a man to deserve all that I have to give.