they told me that love was a high school relationship with roses and happiness and prom king and queen they did not tell me that gripping the same person for four years would wear my fingernails down to blood and bone they told me that loving him would improve my life and all my friends would joke around with him and get along they did not tell me that my friends would have to stay up until four am talking me out of suicide and into leaving him they told me I’d wrap myself between him and some bedsheets and he’d whisper “I love you” every chance he got they did not tell me that I’d be crying and lying with him because he screamed “if you really love me you’d prove it” they told me I’d be happy and full of life they told me he’d be my one and only they told me he’s the best I’d get they didn’t tell me that the grip of his hands would turn my face red or that I’d spend more time in my bed than in the sun or that I’d stop paying attention to the rest of my life
they didn’t tell me how to recognize abuse ( fleurange )
