Scars

Prologue

You know Romeo and Juliet? How their love was forbidden? Yet they loved each other anyways, so much so it got them killed. Back when I read that in school, it was so easy to tell myself that they were stupid. There were so many other people in the world. Why was it their very enemy that they fell in love with?

 And why is it the very thing you never think would happen to you, or wish would ever happen to you, is exactly the thing that happens? Is it some kind of cruel fate? Would wishing for me to be Juliet have made the outcome any different? No.

 In the end, I am still alone. I'm still left with all of the scars he gave me. The scars of every sweet nothing he whispered in my ear. The scars along his skin that I have memorized from nights of sleeping by his side, loving them as much as I loved him. The scars that now decorate my heart and soul. No, they aren't scars. That implies they've healed.

He's left me alone with the open wounds that I have to stitch up on my own. I can only hope that I've done the same. I can only hope that his skin burns from where my fingertips slid along. Or that everytime he kisses another girl, he thinks about how her lips don't follow his rhythm like mine did. I hope I've added to the scars along his body. 

At the same time, the thought of his face as he thinks of me, twisted in the same heartache that pounds through my body right now, doesn't give me the satisfaction I pray it will. In fact, it only makes my heart break more for him. Despite every negative feeling he's brought to me, ones I didn't even know I could feel, I still can't imagine the same for him.
    

It's as if I hate him so much, I still love him.