After things ended for good (do they ever really?), the lovesickness slowly rushed in. My heart was like an open wound, leaving me raw, bleeding outrageously. The thin Band-Aid of disproportionate fear loosened all too easily, unable to staunchly staunch it. Buds of fresh love bore the promise of possibly soothing me along with the probability of definitely dragging someone else into my hurt. It was easier to share the dirtiest kinks than how I actually felt. God forbid someone’d find out what a ruined mess I was. Before I was able to rebuild myself I built a wall around it. That empty space where my blood used to flow for you. Finally ready to not commit again.

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