I wish someone had told you earlier that love isn’t always flowers, music, and promises whispered under moonlight. Sometimes, it’s heavy. Sometimes, it’s ugly. Sometimes, it’s the thing that teaches you the harshest truths about yourself.

I remember you sitting in that lecture hall, heart racing every time your course mate walked in. You had your first real crush on him — the type that makes you write his name in the margins of your notes and smile at the thought of him noticing you. You gave your attention, your laughter, your heart, and bits of yourself you never thought you’d share. Everyone else saw the signs that he wasn’t giving back the same energy, but you ignored the warnings. You kept hoping, kept pushing, convincing yourself that maybe you just had to love him a little harder for him to love you back. Then you found out — not from him, but from whispers and truths you didn’t want to hear — that he had a girlfriend the whole time. And you weren’t just “the girl he talked to.” You were the side piece. The spare. The backup. That kind of truth burns differently, because it makes you question your worth. You didn’t just lose him; you lost the innocent belief that love is always pure.

But you didn’t stop there — because you are you. You gave your heart another chance. You met your second boyfriend. At first, you thought maybe this one would be different. But the silence grew loud. Days without a call. Weeks without a text. You were dating someone who didn’t even try to know your heart. And worse, he didn’t want to better himself, didn’t care to build anything worth keeping. You wanted a partner; he wanted someone who would keep giving without asking for more. So, you ended it — and it broke you to be the one to walk away from something you had hoped for.

Then came the third. You thought maybe this one would finally be the safe place you had been searching for. But you weren’t a priority; you were a convenience. He wanted the body, the warmth, the thrill — but not the heart. He was driven by lust, not love. And every time he spoke to you, you felt the difference. You felt like a placeholder, not a person. Now, you carry the scars. You call yourself a “lover girl,” but the world hasn’t been kind to that side of you. You love sending notes, leaving messages, expressing affection — but fear keeps your fingers still and your heart guarded. Because loving openly feels like giving someone the very weapon they could use to destroy you.

Dear me, love isn’t always kind. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of it. Your love is soft, patient, and full — and one day, it will meet someone who knows how to hold it without breaking it. Until then, it’s okay to protect yourself. It’s okay to demand effort. And it’s okay to say no to anything less than what you know you deserve.