I have learned my lessons in love, while looking into the eyes of those who have seared their handprint onto my heart. I have felt it shatter, and break, and fracture with each lesson finding a new place to mark. But I don’t regret them—no, I can’t regret them. Because these lovers and these lessons have taught me how to love and be loved in return.
I always drank my coffee hot. Piping hot. Because I convinced myself that if I drank enough of it it would warm up the coldest parts of me. Because although I couldn’t see my insides, I knew they were plastered in sharp, jagged icicles. A bone-deep chill, of fear and isolation manifested in harsh, cold edges in my heart and my lungs.