I was in love with this boy. He had black hair, bright blue eyes, and scars on his arms. He held me in his arms everyday I saw him. He grabbed my hand when he saw hopelessness in my eyes. He kissed me when I felt alone. What else could I have asked for? When we were in bed naked, lying next to each other, he’d kiss the scars on my arms. The bruises on my hands. The burns on my wrist. I was in love, so deep, that I would have never imagined the day to come that he’d no longer want me. Love me. After a year and a half, he broke up with me. He dated his ex-girlfriend. I was broken. Lost. Confused. Angry. Depressed. But the bottom line was was that I would never be who he wanted.
I stopped giving a fuck. I said “I’m done chasing after you, telling you that I love you. I’m done calling you and crying over you. I’m done being angry at everybody because of you. I’m done creating new scars because of you. I was a fucking fool to believe that this was love. I am so done. So fucking done of feeling like second best. Fine, keep her. Go ahead, I hope she breaks your fragile ass heart so you can feel my fucking pain. So you can feel the damn hell I live through everyday. I am not a dumbass anymore. I was just so blinded by this disease called ‘love.’ I was such a fucking fool.”