Once is enough. You become less receptive. You become a shell of what you used to be, sometimes to the point that you can’t even remember what you were like before. You lose hope because that initial rejection is enough for you to learn to expect it from everyone else too. You don’t forget, even if you’ve forgiven and you sure as hell are never the same.
It’s unnerving the way mundane things can become so significant because of the memories associated with them. A song has you reminiscing about those late nights driving around, where you were both singing at the top of your lungs, oblivious to the annoyed looks and honks from the cars around you. The movie you don’t remember a single part of that you can never watch again because it brings with it the memories of the time at the theaters, where you were so mesmerized by the delighted look on their face because they had waited so long to watch it. Their scent that had you feeling safe for once in your life, drifting around you as they sat down beside you to study in the library. The way you can never bring yourself to wear a certain color because they loved it on you. I want to stop remembering.