Is this a love story? I don’t know.

I was fourteen when I fell in love. The girl was beautiful. Not ‘eyelashes on point, pink lips and tiny waist’ beautiful, she was ‘fuck you if you think of me as a villain waiting for your opinion’ beautiful.

She barely liked me. Yes, we spoke till four thirty in the morning because she was blabbering on and on about her bucket-list and I liked every dream she had etched onto her paper skin with a pen-edged knife. She liked it, because who doesn’t love talking about themselves? (I know a lot of you don’t, but smile anyway.)

We met every day at school, and I would see her laugh. And no, I wouldn’t think about how pretty she looks as she giggles. Instead, I would laugh with her, cause the joke she had said really was funny.

I was fifteen when she said she liked me. I couldn’t believe it, but I didn’t ask her to say it again because there was a small doubt inside of me. A doubt that went ‘what if she changes her mind?’. And so I shushed about it, and we dated.

A little back story: A week before she said any of this, I had texted a girl (her best-friend) who liked me and things did not end pretty. My bad.

We dated for about a week, so it wasn’t really a relationship but I liked her and I wrote poetry for her and that is why I, at least, say that we dated. I wrote her poetry that had crazy rhyme schemes, and terrible grammar because two people who like each other don’t really care about that, do they?

She broke up with me and called it revenge, a very pretty name for a game that is no fun. I had hurt her friend and oh god, how could I? I apologized to her friend, cause in all honesty, I knew that was my bad and she deserved it.

I’ve lied many times after all of this, to the girl I fell in love with when I was fourteen. I’ve called her my muse and I’ve said I still like her.

It’s been two years and I’ve been with other people but something went wrong inside this futile human body or heart of mine. I look at people and I see them wearing masks, tip-toeing their way across the lives of others, throwing grenades and being friendly at the same time. It’s crazy.

I try to like someone, and I feel like I do sometimes, but I end up breaking their heart and making them what I am. A monster. A villain not waiting for your opinion.

I’ve been called a lot of things. Am I all of these things?

Am I a fuckboy? Maybe.


Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post : The thin line.
Related post : It’s okay.

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50 Comments

  1. This is so well-written and inspiring. You have a very impressive style with your words and thoughts. Truly remarkable. I hope you could follow my blog page, if you don’t mind. Cheers! :)

        1. Pretty good so far. You want to move this conversation to Instagram, or something?

  2. I could say you’re a little stupid for living in the past, but moving on is easier said than done. But don’t give one flying fuck about what others call you, that is not who you are. Please don’t doubt yourself as a human being or others will too. Try to focus on your present, not past or future. Look at what you have right now and create art from that, I know because I do the same. Eventually, you will just run out of metaphors to describe that muse, because there are only so many ways to describe being destroyed. Also, smile :)

        1. I did say it was purely fictional. Maybe others could use the advice though. Thanks on their behalf.

  3. You have nailed the struggles of adolescence, very nicely. People who don’t figure it out, during that time in their lives, end up wearing masks well into adulthood.

  4. This was a thoroughly enjoyable read. You write so fucking well, dude! I have to say this was my favourite line:

    “I look at people and I see them wearing masks, tip-toeing their way across the lives of others, throwing grenades and being friendly at the same time.”

        1. I texted. Although there is something else that I will bring to your notice when you reply over there.

        1. I’m currently very paranoid about anonymity, being a new blogger and all… I’ll have to create a new account but I’ll keep you posted if you will :))

  5. I love your writing style. Very unique. It just encouraged me to stay true to mine. Thank you for being true to yourself.
    Not very many of us are.

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