I remember being sixteen and being in love.
My heart raced at the mere anticipation of him.
I  honestly believed that he was perfect.
But he never truly loved me for me; not in retrospect.

After that I went searching for a new love.
One that would love me for who I am.
I searched for years but I didn’t find it.
Just constant disappointments and an inability to commit.

Then I decided I would love no more.
I’d never give myself over again unless it was inescapable.
I promised myself, my mother and all my friends.
But a matter of months later I fell in love all over again.

I couldn’t fathom my own weakness- it felt like giving in.
Until I realised the love I’d found had to be real;
Because, yes he loved me true,
But most importantly; he helped me love my own skin too.