And sometimes late at night, I used to hear my parents yelling at each other.

I never heard the exact words they used, only the anger that they felt and I remember how much it scared me.

I'd hide under blankets thinking it'd keep me safe from anything outside of them and try to think happy thoughts

And every morning, it'd be like it never happened. My mom would kiss my dad goodbye as he went to work and I never said a word.

My life felt like it was stuck in a broken sense of normal, and through every smile and laugh and voice crack I could see the darkness seeping out of my mother even when she tried to cover it with light.

This scared me so much, that I began to teach myself to fall in love with ideas and things and places rather than people so I could feel almost enough without ever seeming as broken as my mother.

But soon I realized that "almost" was the worst way to feel.

I watched my friends go on dates and talk for hours about the boys they liked while I sat there incapable of putting my heart in the hands of another because I knew that love was a rose and holding it was not worth pricking my fingers on its thorns.

Sometimes it made me sad, but I knew it was for my own good.

And now, I cannot deny that being held and being kissed is a feeling that I love, but I know deep down I was not made to belong to anyone.