I. Everyone's heard that saying, the one about not making homes out of people, but that's a hard rule to follow, especially when its midnight and cold out and he pulled over on the side of the highway because he "just knew" where to find you walking alone. Its even harder when he offers you his coat and wraps his arms around you and you feel safer surrounded by scarred skin and whiskey blood than you did in the walls of a house you've never considered home.
II. My mother told me once that I shouldn't make someone my first choice if they only made me an option. And my father chimed in with a comment about how I was a young, naive teenage girl who didn't know a **** thing about love. They may have been right about falling for the wrong boys but its hard when every single one of them put their foot out and tripped you as you walked by them that one day in April at the local library.
III. A homeless man once told me that I should be careful because "the drugs might help for awhile but the fall will always be lower than the high" and for the longest time I wrote that on my arm in a marker that promised it was permanent but would always wash off in the shower and that's when I realized that yes, **** is bad, but love is a worse drug and things that promise to stick around never do.
IV. I once played my favorite song on repeat every night for three months and by December I could tell you exactly what second breaths were taken and where the drums were loudest and when the guitars got a little shaky because of sweaty hands. And its February now and that song came on the radio last weekend and I turned it off so fast my head spun a little bit because now instead of ceremonials and drowning, that song makes me think of that time I was so broken I couldn't get off the floor.