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So please ask yourself: What would I do if I weren’t afraid? And then go do it.

Heartbreak wasn’t crying on the bathroom floor and burning all his pictures in the bonfire under the stars. It wasn’t deleting his number and dressing in skimpy dresses so he can take a good look on what he lost. For me, heartbreak was listening all too often to his favorite bands and memorizing all the lyrics to his favorite songs. It was sitting under the rain every chance I got to remind myself that the sky cries too, it was preferring to drown under the teardrops of stormclouds rather than my own thoughts. Heartbreak was finding myself spacing out in between conversations and filling the hole he left in me with pointless conversations with friends on the phone during the hours I used to talk to him. It was me wanting to fall off the edge of the world just to get away from his shadow. It was remembering every conversation we had and the look of his smile and the sound of his laugh. It was writing poems on my tattered notebook until the pages were beaten into stiff sheets of blank ink smudged with tears. Heartbreak was lying on bed staring into nothing and wondering if he’ll ever come back, it was lighting matches during the summer nights on the cold stone balcony to burn away the memories. It was me skipping meals, it was me crying in my closet for hours at the thought of him walking away. It was seeing him everywhere I go and wishing that every stranger I saw would turn around and it would be him. Most of all, it was painful. It was seeing pieces of him everywhere I went. It was me running too often and too hard to the point of feeling that maybe he took my breath with him when he left.

SCARY MOVIES SET IN HOUSES ARE THE WORST