My Definition of Love

Fall is rolling in, and I am reminded, again, that I am damned to end up with a man like my father. A man, cold to the touch, with a soft mouth and blunt words. His body would be solid and warm and calloused. His body is train tracks that lead to me. He will strike me with his meanness, and I will stay. Because my definition of love is learning to keep still when he yells at you. Don't move a muscle. Don't flinch. You made this happen.

Don't ever fall in love with a man with beautiful eyes. They're going to see right through you.

My definition of love is constantly searching- striving to be enough. Always competing with the ex. Always competing with the pretty girl with beautiful hair.

My definition of love is feeling perfect when he says "You're beautiful." It is disregarding that look he gave the girl in skinny jeans at the store, because right now- right in this moment- he thinks you're beautiful.

My definition of love is stripping for him when he asks you to. You both got into a fight because he refused to talk to you, but you're a good girlfriend, so you take off your clothes for him.

My definition of love is disregarding your feelings to make his okay. It is hours of being on the phone, screaming internally I'M NOT OKAY, but keeping quiet, as he tells you I DON'T WANT TO TALK.

My definition of love is wanting to swallow your mother's sleeping pills after the fight you lost because you couldn't leave him. And then waking up in the morning to his sweet, calloused hands cupping your face. You were made for this.