Coffee Grinds and Ribbon Hearts

When I was 16, I worked at a local coffee shop. We were a close knit group with the skater, the punk, the preppy boy and me, the private school girl. We had secret words and special bonds that could only be made over raspberry mochas and nights mopping up coffee-covered floors. Inevitably crushes were to be had and feelings were to be handed out with someones afternoon latte. But being 16 no one knows what to do or how to deal because we're all really awkward at best.

And so one night my best friend called to tell me that he couldn't be only my friend any more because it was too hard and hurt too much. I cried because sometimes that's what I do and felt my heart break because sometimes that's what they do. And who's to say whether it's worse to have your heart broken or be the heartbreaker, because they can both hurt equally bad. But I bandaged it up and went back to my high school life of school and parties and fake ids. And along the way every now and then the bandage comes a little loose and I've had to tighten the knots. But in the end you realize that even the prettiest bow can come undone and underneath all of the bright layers of ribbon you're heart is still there in one piece.