You said you hurt me. You kept your promise. She told you that you’d end up liking me. She was right.

I thought I could handle all of the above. I was wrong. The fucked up part? I loved you on purpose. I saw something different in you. Something special in you. Sure, I could’ve judged you by your friends. Afterall, that’s what I was told to do. I can’t name one good thing anyone had to say about you– with the exception of your sister. Not one. Yet I fell for that small smile you always gave after a pleasant surprise. The warmth on your face that told me I was getting to you. Snapshots that replayed in my mind every time I deleted your number out of my phone.

My snapshots > The ones cascaded of you on social networks.

The game had changed. The vacuum had shattered. Dancing on possibility was interrupted with harsh realities. Funny. I thought I was the one with the fucking issues. It’s the lies that bother me. It’s the fact that our first conversation was one about self-proclaimed “bad bitches” and what they lack, and how meticulous choices was the key to having a long run. Here I am though, scrolling through my phone of you and your cougar. For someone who wanted to experience firsts with their partner, you sit very well in family photos. Photo shoots on beds that probably smell like 4 different perfumes.

See, there I go talking shit. And really, the situation isn’t worth it.

… That. And it’s too easy.

End of the day, you don’t deserve me. The pictures that I paint are too beautiful. My imagination is too extraordinary. Afterall, I started out believing in you and me. Extraordinarily. I almost started to think I was missing out. After the smoke, I wondered how I could be so blind. Yet, where it seemed like they had a fraction of it all, they have it all in common. Only we can tell this story. My character can be written out of the story and no one would miss it. I save myself. I save my heart and I save face.

Yes, I care that much.

It’s just a shame looking back… I was ready to give you too much.