“I’ve got a crush on you.”
“Don’t worry, that will go away.”
I talk to people like I’m a benign tumor. Like if they just repeatedly ice me, or take an Aleve, they’re totally golden. I don’t know where I lost my confidence, but I went back to find it the other day and I’m pretty sure it’s buried alongside my 2015 tax returns and under all of the bobby pins that used to keep my messy bun in check.
I hate when people tell me to love myself. Ok, listen Biebs…that’s the easy part. It’s trusting that someone else won’t crush my soul after I’ve proven to them that I do in fact love myself and that they should feel the same that’s the hard part.
What’s the best way to keep someone from hurting you? Don’t let them buy the opportunity; tell them you’re not worth the sale. I’m basically a backwards realtor. Showing off my real estate like it’s far from prime, you know, so it won’t get any use; escaping the abuse.
I realized today how absolutely terrified I am of the repercussions of interest. I have been so perpetually content in the confines of single hood that anything veering from the norm is a potential bomb threat to me.
Everyone is a (love) terrorist in my eyes.
Remember a world where we didn’t live in fear?
Yea, me either.