His eyes held so much promise. 

His soft voice wrapped me up in reassurance with each word he spoke. 

His entire being reached inside me and pulled out the lovey-dovey cliché that I've always despised. 

Every time his name creeps across my mind a piece of me dies. 

I thought I was in love, but it turns out I was just in love with the idea of love; I gave everything I had for it. 

Because of love my common sense was blurred, my ability to protect myself was sacrificed. 

Because of love, my hips were blue. 

Because of love, I went days without sleep.

Because of love, I became an object, a thing that belonged to him. 

This love ripped me up, tore me open and left me lying on the ground. 

And now I sit in church listening to a reading from St. Paul to the Corinthians but all I can hear are his sighs of disgusting pleasure, pounding inside my head, drowning out any trace of holy noise. Or in math class, learning about x= blah blah blah and who knows what divided by 15 while the image of his face above mine multiplies inside my head. 

Because of love, love is terrifying. 

And after countless sleepless nights and endless days I still think to myself, "How could I have been so stupid."