“I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.”

“No…I kinda did.”
He looked at her, puzzled.
“I…don’t think I understand.”

“I knew he was hurting me,” she continued. “I knew he wasn’t treating me right. I knew I deserved better…but I stayed anyways. Sometimes you love someone, you love them so much, that you let them hurt you. I wanted him to touch me, even if it made me bleed. I wanted those seconds of happiness even if it meant a night of tear stained pillows. In my gut, I knew it wasn’t right, but I’d spend hours making excuses just to try to feel it was. I put myself second to put him first…and I thought…hey…maybe one day he’ll do the same for me.”

“I hope we last. I hope we do.

But if we don’t, this is how I want you to remember me:

I want you to remember me curled up, listening to the sound of your heartbeat and tracing maps across your skin. Remember me laughing at your jokes, even the stupid ones. Remember me in hysterics for absolutely no reason and in tears because one time you made me so sad neither of us thought I’d recover. Remember me brave, that time you held my hand and I thought I was going to die; remember me scared and gentle and delicate and breakable - only for you though, only for you.

Remember me happy, and all the ridiculous ways I tried to get your attention. Remember the way I was too stubborn to talk to you and how absolutely insane it drove the both of us. Remember all the firsts and how they were so delightful we went back for seconds and thirds and fourths. Remember the songs you couldn’t stop listening to and the childish dreams you allowed yourself about the future. If it’s any consolation I allowed myself to have them too.

If it comes to it I don’t want you to remember the ending.

Remember the beginning. Remember the first time you knew.