"If it was your best friend, a coworker, even a boyfriend, would he still be any of those things if he treats you the way he does now? You stand up for yourself and don't let people walk over you. Why does that make him any different?"

Now a days,
It seems that all we talk of
Is the 'romantic' heart break

The onr that has
You falling apart at two am
Crying into your pillow
And sobbing till you fall asleep.

Yes that's heart break.
What about the truly heart shattering heart break though?
The one that isn't romantic one bit?
Not movie like?
Not story like.

The one,
Where you're getting a glass of water
At one p.m. when you finally woke up
And all you can do
Is stare blankly at that glass
And think about how that purple glass
Was his favorite shade
And that you too at one point where his favorite girl.

How come on one talks about the heart shattering heart break
At two p.m.
When you shatter the glass.

Because that glass and shade of purple
And  is no longer his favorite either?

I remember crying after the breakup.
It was one of the worst months of my life.
My mother held me in bed as I sobbed for days,
saying the same thing over and over:

"I love him momma, I love him so it's only fair he still loves me."

I don't know what broke my heart more..
The fact that I was heart broken,
My mothers reply

"I'm sorry baby, but that's just not how love works. Just because you love someone, doesn't mean they love you too."

Or the fact that I realized how honest and hard that statement hit home.

I was fifteen years old.
You were sixteen.
You called me every night.
Sometimes we´d have our rough patches
Arguing and fighting,
Hanging up,

Crying and making up the very next day,
As soon we woke up.
Even through all that,
I always asked for a bedtime story,

And my favortie one,
No matter how many times we argued,
No matter how may times we hang up,
Ignore each other for the night,
Or even say harsh words,


¨I Love You¨ will always be my favortie bedtime story you´ve ever told me.

If it's one thing our generation knows best,
It's that words hurt.
Words now a days can tear us apart in a heart beat.
But just because we know that,
Doesn't always mean that we use that knowledge for the best.

The crazy thing is,
We don't seem to understand that,
Words hurt,
But so does the silence that comes with having nothing left to say.

And I never understood
Until I met you,
Until I lost you,
And lost myself in the process,
What my mother meant
When she told me
That princes don't exist,
And that you must choose your frog
Wisley
Before you lose your crown

You cannot tell her she's beautiful,
You cannot tell her you love her,
You cannot tell her she's your world
When she's at her best moments.

You may only tell her those things,
If you're ready for her to have those off days,
If you're ready for her to not always wear makeup,
If you're ready to deal with her mood swings,
If you're ready for her to be clingey some days and distant others,

You cannot tell her any of the pretty little comments,
Unless you can handle her
Alone at two A.M.
As she's struggling with life,
And wondering why

She is not enough to win her own internal battles