If she gave him her whole heart and he broke it, she is left with a broken heart. If she gave him half a heart she was not honest. If she gave him a piece of her heart, she fooled herself. If she loved deeply and dreamed deeply and cared deeply, she was a better person. If she were afraid to love she would be miserable, still, if he took it all way, would she not be just as miserable?

If she cried for fear of not recieving this love back, the first tear dripped so slowly down her cheek and rested on her jaw line until it dropped suddenly hitting the cold, hard tile. Then the salty flood came. Her eyes, wet, red and swollen struggled to face anyone. Despite her optimistic nature, she thought her life was over. It wasn’t. She wanted Alice’s bottle that read “drink me” so she could shrink to nothing and be invisible. She wasn’t ready to be unreceived. The tile was cold against her bare legs. The rain pouring outside kept the viscious tears streaming uncontrollably. She made no sound, the most terrifically painful crying and did not stop until the sunrise at which point she fell asleep on the numbing floor.

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