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.