I physically don’t want to do this. I don’t want to make a something for you or any of the other fuck boys that enter my life, but I do it anyway. I write about every dude I meet. It’s mostly to see if I can un-write your fuckshit. It’s funny because I can’t. I want you to be a distant memory and in everyday life, you are except in things that matter. You don’t enter my mind. It’s like you don’t exist until you are all that exists. You show up in every boy I’ve ever liked. They are just as addicted to something as you were. They are shy and hard to talk to. They come off distant until they don’t.
I remember when we met and I believed you for who you were, a player. Players grew up into ass holes and asshole became fuck boys. As time went on it became cool to be who you were. You were bad. You didn’t care. You had a chip on your shoulder. You were a mystery because you didn’t want anyone near you until you did.
You wanted me there. You cared about me. You needed me, and you took what you needed. You siphoned the love right out of me. You didn’t care that the tank was running on empty as you were getting your fill. The beauty of this is you thrived though you think it was surviving. You had someone to love you and you had something to love. You wanted to be broken so you didn’t have to feel anything. The drugs were there to keep you company in ways I couldn’t, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want me there, you wanted us both. You wanted to love us both. You needed us both.
I was a fool, I know. I can’t fully blame you for all your shit. I stayed. I was infatuated and then in love with a broken boy who was never going to grow up. I kept growing though, well for the most part. I grew up in the world. I learned more things from books, met new people in different countries. I understood I was older and I had a dream that wasn’t going to come alive by itself.
I left, and you cried. And I cried. I came home to you in the same spot I left you, a blunt in hand, chip on your shoulder, and your heart still broken. I assumed my same position, piecing you back together. I laid next to you smoke swirling around me suffocating me in my sleep as I stroked your hair and told you - you have to get better. You nodded and said you would. You lied.
It was like this a little while longer before I got busy, and you found someone else that let you stay where you were. I couldn’t help anymore. I was tired and busy. I was going to sink or swim in this big bad world and I chose to swim. We didn’t end we just stopped. Radio silence from days on end talking about music, how shitty the world is, and how you struggle with having faith in God. I just lost all the things at the same time. I lost the connection I had with who I was your savior, a lover, a friend. I didn’t have a purpose of telling stories because after while, I was just telling yours. For years I re-wrote your story to the world and they loved it. They loved how broken you were. It was seductive. I was screaming for help though. I was screaming for someone to love me in the way I loved you because the reality is you weren’t the addict anymore. I was. I was addicted to fixing you and falling in love with your flaws. I felt things big and heavy with you at 19 and now at 25, I feel nothing most of the time. I feel like I left my feelings when I left you.
I had to sever those ties and walk away knowing that I may never get to feel what the good part of love feels like. But now I see it and I want it. I want someone to touch me how I touched you, softly and unhurried like forever wasn’t just a concept but was what we got. I want someone to look at me how I looked at you like you could put the sun and the moon in the sky. I most of the time think that will never happen. I’ll never get that feeling. I’ll never have a love that bleeds so red that people think it was on fire. I meet people and I hold back because it’s like 0-60, I fall and fall hard. I can’t just like someone I have to know everything about them because the secrets kill me now. I’m scared they are hiding. I don’t trust people with my heart because you took it and gave me back pieces.
I want to just be the hookup chick, but I’m not her. I don’t want to be one of many I want to be one of one. I want to be the girl that you grab and stare at just for the hell of it because it feels good. I see glimpses of that and get scared that I won't get to keep them. They’ll take the few pieces I have left and crush those too.
We all have that one we’d love to forget that imprints on our soul like a damn virus, and you’re mine. There’s no cure for what happened between us. You took what you needed and I manage my sickness every day by forgetting you and every other man exists. People talk about falling in love and forevers and I talk about faraway places that feel like love affairs, so I don’t know how to commit to anything.
It’s easy to not plant roots when you’re alone. But every now and again I catch a glimpse of a man who has a smirk that kind of looks like yours, and I test to see if he’ll be around but at a distance because falling for a guy like you again could ruin me to the point I may not survive it. He usually leaves because he’s the new age fuckboy, and I have good girl written all over me. You could meet me on a saucy night but the way I look over at you the confidence in my chin isn’t from me it’s from the man who made me and put me on this earth and guys around here don't mess with Him. I am beautiful. I am worthy. I am enough. Just because I don’t want to put up with someone not treating me that way doesn’t make me less, it just makes me smarter than I was.