She fell in love every other year and swore that every love would be her last. For months on end after every breakup, she would wallow in her misery and think of everything she’d ever given up for love. Of who she could have been now or of what she could have done differently.
The very last time was the worst, because it might have been the only time she’d ever really, truly fallen in love. When he broke her heart, she knew he’d broken more than just that. He’d broken her.
She spent day after day alternating between refusing to leave her bed and crying her eyes out or pathological attempts to pretend that she was okay by partying like crazy until the sun came up.
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A lot of nights were spent on the front porch, staring up at the stars with tears falling endlessly…
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