This Is Me Breaking My Own Heart

Some girls put up walls once they’ve been hurt. They build them brick by brick, every crack in their heart means another one is added. I tried that. I really did. I tried not to let anyone in, not to care. I tried to fix those cracks and build that wall. And then I met you. You didn’t believe me; you knew my wall was made of paper, not the bricks I drew on it. And I knew you’d break my heart. After all, boys always do. Now, instead, I am choosing to break my own.

We met at that party in Soho. I was dancing the night away when you smiled at me across the room. We laughed, we talked, we drank. Thing is, all flags look red through the rosé. I knew you’d break my heart, so I got ahead of it; I chose to break my own.

I told you right then and there that I suck at commitment, that I do not want anything serious. I didn’t mean it—could you tell? But It made me feel like I had the upper hand, like I was winning. Turns out, there is no prize. All I got are what ifs, and now the only men that I sleep next to at night slink out the door in the morning as if they were never even there in the first place.

Maybe I should have told you that the reason I couldn’t let you close was so that you’d never know just how much you could hurt me. Maybe I should have told you that losing you would be so much easier if your number was never even saved in my phone. Maybe I should have told you that all of that is a lie.

When you held me in your arms, I tried so hard to be checked out. I tried so hard not to let myself sink into you, not to let my heart heal with every beat of yours against my chest. I took another sip, because all flags look red through the rosé and I couldn’t stand how much I liked the way you held me.

Some girls put up walls once they’ve been hurt, once their hearts have been shattered. I tried, I really did. But I couldn’t. So, this is me keeping me safe. I am breaking my own before you get the chance.