Sep 2014
One day, you’re 18 and the boy you fell for in high school breaks your heart.
One day, you’re 25 and the boy who broke your heart has been long gone and his name is just another name among the bunch of “lovers that went wrong”. Among the “Should’ve beens” and “Would’ve beens”.
So there it is. Be 18. Wear your heart on your sleeve. Give your number to a stranger on the train who sparked a conversation with you about the weather or whether your Thursday night was vacant. Wear your heart on your sleeve. Love defiantly. Forgot what heartbreaks feels like, just remember how you wrote good poetry with mascara infused tears leaving track-marks along your cheekbones. Let boys look at you, you are a girl of beauty after all. Wear a new shade of lipstick that begs the attention. Run in the morning, understand you are free. Wear your heart on your sleeve.
And by all means, be 18. One day, you’ll be 25 and miss the petty heartbreaks of being 18.
One day, you’re 25 and the boy who broke your heart has been long gone and his name is just another name among the bunch of “lovers that went wrong”. Among the “Should’ve beens” and “Would’ve beens”.
So there it is. Be 18. Wear your heart on your sleeve. Give your number to a stranger on the train who sparked a conversation with you about the weather or whether your Thursday night was vacant. Wear your heart on your sleeve. Love defiantly. Forgot what heartbreaks feels like, just remember how you wrote good poetry with mascara infused tears leaving track-marks along your cheekbones. Let boys look at you, you are a girl of beauty after all. Wear a new shade of lipstick that begs the attention. Run in the morning, understand you are free. Wear your heart on your sleeve.
And by all means, be 18. One day, you’ll be 25 and miss the petty heartbreaks of being 18.
