Love Was Written

Brett, I was going to start this softer. I really was. But it's late and I've been thinking too much. And my hands don't want to write anything pretty for you anymore. You picked me apart like a hobby. Too loud when I was excited. Too quiet when I was hurt. You said I laughed at the wrong moments. That I was "too sensitive," like it was a flaw you could sand down if you kept at it long enough. You hated that I needed reassurance. You hated that I didn't know when to shut up about things that mattered to me. You made it sound like love was a checklist, and I was always two boxes short. And the worst part? I believed you. I thought, maybe I really am too much.   Maybe I really am broken in ways that make me hard to keep.  So I tried to shrink. To fit. To become the version of me you could love without sighing. But here's the thing.. I've started meeting people who smile at the exact same parts of me you rolled your eyes at. People who don't just tole...