I don’t want to be another statistic,

another broken hearted waste of space who turns out to be like everyone else.

I don’t want this heartbreak to turn me cold and cynical. 

I still want to believe in true love and happy endings.

Although I may be a hopeless romantic, I’m not a lier.

I’d be lying if I told you that I’m fine, and that I truly believe things will get better. 

They say that time heals all wounds, however, you were much more than a skinned knee on the playground, my dear, you were a blindsided head on collision with a freight train. 

And somehow, I still believe whole heartedly 

that given the choice, I’d do it all again.