I remember my first heartbreak, I remember that day, I was still a girl but I had to grow up that day. Tears kept pouring down my cheeks and no one seems to care about it, so doing what I thought was best, which was to pack the broken pieces of my heart and hide them away so people wouldn’t see that I am bleeding, then have a fresh start.
Which was what I did, I became a good girl, followed all the rules and make everyone proud, until I was heartbroken again. How can I be broken from the broken pieces? This makes it another wound. I did the same thing again, I was the girl with the smiley face and the encourager, I have always had things under control, and I put layers on myself and acted like all was well.
I did move on with my life; for sometime I thought so, but you cannot keep running away from pain all of our lives. I thought I could until; I got a gunshot wound from the person I cared about most in my life. I cried I thought I had no tears again or I made myself believe I had no tears to cry again and was torn between letting my pride down and allowing people to know how badly I was hurt and not always being the perfect one.