Baby, don’t hurt me

the devil wears tartan

I am known amongst my friends as the intense one. I am the fickle one. I can fall in love at the drop of a hat and forget about the object of my adoration by the morning. I have a vulnerable streak that makes men want to love me and leave me and there’s no way to tell if I’ll be snapping along to Beyonce afterwards or crying in the shower for weeks listening to Regina Spektor.

I had hoped time away from the dating game and the distance between me and my teenage years had padded out my heart but it hasn’t. I’m almost 26 and I still feel everything as raw as ever. The only real difference is that I don’t loathe my body any more. It is a good home for me and a weapon to be used, in the best way.

At this age, nothing is…

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