That’s the thing. You can cry. You can break down and die. But not over social media. Not in broad daylight. The only time and place for breaking down is alone in your room with the lights off and the door locked at 3 am when everyone is asleep and no one can hear you swallowing the heartache all over again with every gasp for air between heaving sobs. That’s when you let everything fall apart. Let the mascara run down your face and let Taylor Swift’s guitar help you cry yourself to sleep. Curl into a ball and feel so incredibly sorry for yourself that it hurts. Let your stomach ache and clench. Count the millions of reasons why you weren’t good enough for him. Look at the pictures a few more times as the waterworks reconstruct your makeup. As long as the darkness of night cloaks your windows you let yourself be as sad as humanly possible. But the moment that sun rises, you get your ass out of bed. You wipe off the runny makeup, wash your face, take a hot shower. Light a candle. Put on a fresh coat of lipgloss, put your game face on. Paint the biggest fake smile on your face babydoll because the key to surviving on the battlefield of love is to never ever ever let him see you sweat.
(via alohaubrey)
