As I sat there, I wondered if she too, was told as a child that a boy being mean to you meant he liked you. I started thinking about how many women were still encountering this, a man being mean to her, for the sake of a love that she just had to wait on.

So when I got into college, I started to care less about my appearance. I figured I was smart, so who cares if I'm not pretty? My brain is going to get me ahead. And sure enough when I did that, I got.....pretty. 

The bright white lights blinded me as I tried to figure out which door was his. I got there and text him, not wanting to knock and risk the awkwardness of seeing one of his suitemates, most likely the one I knew.

To think that there could be loves that open you, wound you, and heal you all at once. It sounds so impossible and terrifying that its easy to run. I've ran. Many times. Sometimes I think I'm still running.

I used to revel in silence, used it as my tool, but I never felt complete. It was when I started to yell, cry, talk, and write, that I felt whole.