I’m sitting on my bed, packing a bowl that I’ll smoke by myself. I’m okay with that, I hope you know. There’s a boy that I love, but maybe just a little bit. I guess the strange part is that I used to love him a whole lot more, but things change and I try to look at things more realistically now. He has never, and will never love me but that’s okay right now. You know why? Because there are men in this world who are passionate even when they’re not in love. I want (no, need) to be one of them. There are people who write these beautiful, powerful songs about being in love with people they have yet to meet. They are able to because they have hope, because they are okay with being vulnerable. They’re okay with believing they are worth love, and that one day they will live in it. I love someone who doesn’t love me, so I will never again give him my heart. But I refuse to numb myself any longer. I refuse to shut away something as beautiful as love, just because I feel absolutely, horrifically vulnerable in loving. I figured out how to be happy on my own, not because a man put his hands around my heart or pulled the drawstrings at the corners of my mouth into a smile.