she's sitting on her bed, 11pm, staring at her phone and waiting for a message that never comes.
2am, lying in the dark - nothing but questions floating around in her head.
was it something i said? maybe that joke wasn't funny enough.
was it something i wore? i probably looked fat.
did i do something weird? i'm not sure, he didn't say anything about it.
all she had was questions swirling around in her mind causing nothing but anxiety and confusion. she doubted everything.
does he love me? she wondered nervously, because she certainly loved him. she loved him with a fierce and passionate love. the kind of love that puts stars in your eyes and butterflies in your stomach. she loved him more than she knew what to do with and more than she wanted to admit.
but by 15 and 10 months, she knew it wasn't love. it was something different - more shallow.
who really knows what the feeling was. infatuation, maybe? a need to be wanted, craved by another person. she waited, waited, and waited for him to pick her up and save her. that's what love did, right? it saved you?
so, at 15 and 11 months, she realized that if love was going to save her, then she was going to need to love herself.
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