hopeless lover

She’s an actress too” 

You tell me about your new girl. 

“She reminds me of you, actually.” 

You say.

I know, I think to myself. 

You’re searching for me in every woman you meet.

You fall for girls who look like me, 

Act like me, 

Dream like me.

You’ll be haunted your whole life. 

Followed by the memory of me-

The One That Got Away.
My memory lives inside you, 

In your mind, 

On your skin, 

Deep in your bones. 

My touch is burned into the memory of your skin- 

Like a scar that won’t fade. 

All these years, I’ve lingered on your skin.

Like a scar that won’t fade. 

HYPERTROPHIC- 

Deep

Thick 

Wide 

Raised for all to see. 

A mark from the trauma, a reminder of me. 

Like “Tyler’s Kiss” it’s a sign of the painful pleasure. 

“Painful Pleasure” is the best way to explain to those that don’t understand why teenagers fall in love.

It’s for the thrills, the lesson, the pleasure, the pain. 

He wasn't the first to try but he was the first to love me right, properly, fully. God, I miss him. Or do I just miss that feeling? That sense of being accepted and wanted for who I am.
But I was 16, am I anything like that anymore. Am I still lovable? 

That's my biggest question, that's my biggest fear- that I'm not. 

But remembering him gives me hope. It happened once- and weirder things have happened. 

He was a teenage girl's total dream boy. Just a couple years older, skater boy, with his ~ own car ~, loved by my family and madly in love with me. He didn't try to tell me what to do, what to wear, who to see. He respected my individuality and gave me room to embrace it.  He encouraged and supported the things I love. When we’d laugh, it was always together. The sex was adventourous for that age, I was given freedom and shown gentle kindness. I realized years later just how lucky I was to be loved by him. I wish I had been able to reciprocate. We broke up, I cried. Well I made him a sandwich, dumped him and then proceeded to cry in his arms. After a while he decided it was best for him to leave because, uh i had  just fucking dumped him, he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

I think he still loved me for a bit, then it turned to hate. I know this because yeaaaars later, we hooked up and had the most amazing, hate filled sex I have ever experienced. About two years ago, I was having crazy vivid dreams about him. It ate at me for months, the idea of reconnecting with him, the wondering if he still hated me, if he could still love me like he did.  Well, after there was nothing left to eat inside of me, I reached out. He responded. I was flooded with happiness and hope. We texted for a few days then I happened to be in his borough and I invited him to grab coffee. 

CRICKETS. 

Being ignored may have hurt more than hearing the word “no.” It is what it is though. 

We get, we give, we lose.

We live, we love, we fuck up. 

I fucked up and I lost the most special thing I ever had. 

For me, it was the slightly crooked teeth, the slant in your smile. 

The way your eyes would narrow in on me when I said something sassy. 

(I started to do it on purpose) 

You put up with so much from me, and made it look effortless. 

It was graceful. 

My knight in the  shiny white buick.

Do you remember us? 

Fondly, I hope, if you do. 

I hope, I really hope you do.