Category : Diary/Journal

Sub Category : N/A

It started when I was eighteen
the age where everything feels like a knife with no handle,
and every touch can be a promise or a trap.

He texted me like a habit,
each message a thread tying me tighter to a story I wasn’t sure I wanted to live.
To him, maybe it was just words, easy, casual.
But I collected each one like sacred relics,
because he targeted the best learners,
and maybe I believed I was one.

After high school, there he was—
waiting at the edges of my world in that battered Opel,
glasses catching the sunset just right,
like some storybook boy
with a t-shirt stretched over muscles I wanted to believe in.

His hands, soft and sure
when they touched mine, it felt like the world could tilt but not fall.
His voice, not quite deep, but low enough
to make my skin hum and my heart forget it had a shield.

He held my hand close to his chest,
lying gently, weaving words that knotted my heart in impossible ways.

We weren’t even dating,
but I fell in love with the way he picked me up
how he made a girl feel less invisible.
And maybe that’s what love is,
a dangerous kind of magic when you’re just a girl trying to grow.

But then,
three months later
he ended it, like it was a lesson I wasn’t ready to learn.

He said I was still a kid,
too young to know what I wanted.
Too young to know what I deserved.

And I was turning twenty.

But the girl who once needed saving
is learning to save herself 
quietly, fiercely,
one broken lesson at a time.