No, I will not allow you to play with my heart and then throw it in the dirt as though it is a dirty football.
No, I will not allow you to hold my hand and call me pretty and then just change your mind.
No, I will not allow my self to become putty in your hands, so malleable, so easy to get to, so vulnerable.
But when you smile your smile and hold my hand in yours, I can't help but feel special. Wanted. Needed.
Loved.
And the cycle starts again.
