We accept the love we think we deserve because we’ve never seen it any other way. We don’t know what healthy love looks like when we’ve only seen love in the bright light of gaslights.

We accept that love because we were raised in the back of cars shuffled between parents who didn’t understand us. How could they understand us when we were begging for love they didn’t know how to give? As we dealt with the trauma, they passed down to us.

We accept that love because we think we deserve the backhanded remarks and teeth marks of lovers. Is it really love if it doesn’t feel like panic? Is it really love if it doesn’t taste like chaos?

I have lived in a house haunted by ghouls who tell me they love me while hiding me away. I accepted love that felt like a penance for crimes I didn’t commit. I believed that secondhand attention and table scraps of affection were what I deserved.

But I don’t want to accept this ghost of love.

I will no longer believe I deserve this.

I deserve perfection and fairytales.

And so do you.