̶ ̶ lxvi. IT'S NOT THE END.

when a boy tells you he loves you with his fingers sliding down the waistband of your underwear, do not listen. like muffled thunder above dark clouds, this is your warning. take your hands against his shoulders or his chest or anywhere you can reach and push him away. look him in the eye and make him understand you are not just an object that he can touch without permission without even saying a word. don't allow yourself to bubble up in anger or frustration, instead pick yourself up and leave the room for him to acknowledge that he doesn't love you the way he should. he only ever finds himself whispering it against your skin when the blood is rushing somewhere more than where he can even comprehend what's happening.

no, that's an excuse. he knows what he's doing and you shouldn't allow it. he doesn't mean the words that fall from his lips, don't listen. instead fold them up into your fist and crush them until you can't remember what he's even said. don't rush home and begin to cry over a senseless boy who doesn't know the definition of used even when your standing right in front of him telling him no but he continues to snake his hands around your hips the same way you've seen on television shows and movies and you wonder if this is where your existence will end; in the palm of his hands taking everything you've ever known when it came to comfort and safety and love and self worth and throwing it out the window that listens to your rejections just like the wind.

don't let someone make you feel materialized and worthless and empty all in the matter of sixty minutes as your chest heaves up and down quickly and he looks over at you with a smirk on his face and says, "i told you, you would enjoy it."

just like your no's, he seemed to not hear the smothered cries that escaped your mouth with every thrust that seemed to shake the world but everyone stayed asleep and you are left to wonder how things came to this. how he still says i love you even though you swear he can hear your heart cave because you want to believe it but you know deep down that love is not meant to feel this way.

when a boy tells you he loves you with his hands leaving bruises into your hips, let him know how much this will scar the rest of the future that lies ahead of you. drill into his head that it's so hard for you to find trust in men now so how will this make anything different. scream, kick, plead, whatever you do, do not let him win.

you are not worthless or empty or an object that can be touched without permission all because of one boy. you will grow with time, the world won't seem so vicious and out to get you anymore.

one day, you'll find a man who fills you with soft i love you's over morning coffee and movie marathons and quick grocery runs, and it will not sound like a gunshot full of glass bullets exploding within you, it will sound like your favorite lullaby, a song stuck on repeat that you still haven't found the urge to shut off yet.

you'll know exactly then how love is meant to feel like.