I haven’t went on a rant in awhile, so here’s one.

I really, really hate it when the first question out of an older woman’s mouth is: “How old are you?” It’s almost immediately followed with: “…and you know about love, huh?” In the most condescending way. Listen, I don’t care if you’re 50, 60 or 105, I’m telling you now, that’s the quickest way to upset me these days. Y’all act like only people 100+ can give advise about love, growth and healing. Is it really impossible to believe that young people are out here getting their hearts broken? Or is that something reserved for senior citizens? See, the problem is, y’all don’t want to talk about it. Y’all don’t want to talk about the real stuff anymore. Your whole life is under that rug. I don’t care how old you are, that’s dumb, and I also don’t care how you feel since you want to be bitter. The title of MY STORY is To Mend a Broken Heart, not your heart, my heart. Call me selfish. Call everyone around the world whose read it gullible. But don’t call me a fraud because I’m not 1,000 years old and your soul is ugly.