But you shed not a single tear for the things that you didn’t need…. because you knew you were finally free.

I have a {not so} secret confession to make: I used to be a hopeless romantic.

I suppose it’s not so shocking if you look back through previous entries. But once upon a time, I used to believe that the Beatles had it right, that all you need is love. Of course, that was a long time ago, before boyfriends and break ups. When I was a little girl I so desperately believed in the fairytale: that someday my prince would come.  And you know what, he did. But the thing is, fairytales lied to me. They never told about after happily-ever-after, when your prince leaves you for your ugly stepsister, with bigger boobs. No, my fairy tales left that out.

Nowadays, I tend to hail from the land of boys-are-fun-for-one-night-but-trust-me-run-away-the-morning-after. I know, I know, it’s probably not the popular opinion. I’m supposed to want one boy who can swoop in, sweep me off my feet. The prince who I’m supposed to ride off to his castle in the sky, cue the sunset. Except I kind of feel like the sunset is bullshit.

So this doesn’t exactly make me the best judge when it comes to relationship advice. It kind tends to bring out that bitter, cynical bitch that reared her head which then just makes me feel worse because I can’t even pretend to have hope. Sure, love sounds nice. And maybe for some people it works out–I mean, it must sometimes. Maybe they even get the fairy tale. But me? I haven’t exactly been lucky and that part of me that used to believe love conquered all has been replaced with her evil, slightly slutty twin. I mean honestly I was actually surprised when a boy made the effort to get my number. That says it all.

Sometimes I wish there was an in-between, somewhere between hopeless romantic and bitter cynic. A comfortable grey area I could call home. But at least I know my heart’s safe.

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