Dawn.

This is for the women who hold the kind of love that doesn’t fill their hands. This is for the women who hold the kind of love that isn’t good. This is for the women who confuse angry doors for love. For the women who quietly slip beneath the feet of another. For the women who become ‘welcome home’ doormats. For the women who make themselves smaller to fit in the places that were not meant for them. For the women who think calls at three in the morning make up for the bad times. This is for you. For all the times you thought that calls at three in the morning were the definition of romantic. For all the times you let love shove you around, and for the way you shrugged your shoulders and said ‘but he loves me, but he loves me and I forgive him’. This is for the way you cry once a week, and ask how it is that someone can wake up one day and decide that they don’t love you anymore. This is for you, most of all. Because you see the blood but you look the other way. Because you’re a fighter but you fight for all the wrong things and all the wrong people. Because you think love trips up sometimes. Indeed does it trip up sometimes, but really how many times can you keep blaming others for the way it hurts?  How much longer are you willing to take love that isn’t really love?