Oct 2014
It gets easier, that's what my mom told me after the boy I would've died for pulled my heart out of my chest and watched me bury myself alive.
It gets easier to hide the tears when someone asks how you are, and it gets easier to pretend not to see them in the halls holding hands with the cute girl you always knew he liked. It gets easier to fight every urge in your body that wants to call him after you had four shots, and it gets easier to kiss the nice boy at the party who tastes like spring. It gets easier when you haven't talked to him and three months and you realize you don't think about him when you drive past the place you first held his sweaty hand. It gets easier when you can be by yourself and be okay with it.
It gets easier to hide the tears when someone asks how you are, and it gets easier to pretend not to see them in the halls holding hands with the cute girl you always knew he liked. It gets easier to fight every urge in your body that wants to call him after you had four shots, and it gets easier to kiss the nice boy at the party who tastes like spring. It gets easier when you haven't talked to him and three months and you realize you don't think about him when you drive past the place you first held his sweaty hand. It gets easier when you can be by yourself and be okay with it.
