There’s no denying that I know about you two. I wish I could play ignorant, but my rationale and realistic brain can’t believe him when he promises you two are having problems and that you’re not really together.
As a single woman, my sex life is silently understood to be a reflection of how desirable I am — although society’s line between desirable and slutty is ironically thin.
A year ago, someone forgot why he loved me. A season ago, another said I wasn’t worth the risk. A month ago, somebody lied to lead me on. And then a week ago, you asked me on a date.
I am not the same girl you asked out, not the same girl you loved and not the same girl who’s heart you broke. I am stronger because of the hell you put me through.