𝐖𝐇𝐘? ━━ 𝗩𝗜𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗛𝗜𝗧 | ✓

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❝ REMEMBER WHEN WE FIRST MET? YOU SAID, "LIGHT MY CIGARETTE" ❞

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡︎♡︎♡︎

MONDAYS WERE ALWAYS my least favourite day of the week, so was anybody else's. It was the start of another week filled with nothing but boredom and blandness. Everyday was as dull yet consistent as ever, like my life was a constant reminder that schedules were a thing.

Wake up. Have breakfast. Go to school. Night school. Go home. Eat dinner. Do schoolwork. Then sleep.

And everything will repeat the next day.

It was sickening and upsetting, not even a droplet of fun could get past the sludge made up of responsibilities and burdens. But then again, I had no rights to complain. Well, who was I to complain anyway? These were all for my future, for the success in my life when the time comes.

But as a young teen— I crave for something more. I crave for the thrill in life, to taste even the tiniest bit of freedom. I promised myself to not get drunk on those thoughts, to not hope too much.

Getting too addicted to that feeling would only leave me suffering, yearning for more to the point that I could go mad. And I vowed to never let that happen.

Then— you happened.

You. You were a black hole that swallowed anything in your path, devouring it into nothingness, leaving a trail behind you that screamed your name both in anguish and joy.

And yet— I have whispered yours instead. I could not bring myself to shout your name in despair and hatred, not even in pain and devastation. That alone was terrifying.

You consumed me bit by bit with bloody teeth and smoke scented breath, tearing me apart limb per limb with calloused hands and your stone cold face, and you left me dying, craving, and loving everything you have done to me.

I wasn't sure if what I felt for you was love or admiration or obsession or infatuation— I was practically scared of thinking any of that, especially if it involved you. I couldn't bring myself to admit to myself. I was a coward. I still am, to be honest.

But I, again, couldn't bring myself to blame you fully for everything. In this clear line of mistake, we met halfway through it, you were just waiting at the other end, and I foolishly walked along the path to get to you.

That was my wrong. That was my mistake. That was my problem.

If only I hadn't gotten to you, that I suppressed the curiosity bubbling in me whenever I see you, and have completely purged you from my thoughts and left it as just a spec in my mind.

Unfortunately, I was too weak to fight back those urges.

While you were devouring me with such force, intensity, and apathy— I watched you do it. My eyes shone with delight, curiosity, and — dare I say it — admiration. I wondered in all those moments on how far can you go, how deep will you impale me with your blackened hands, how long will it take for you until you have completely taken my soul — the most humane part of me.

I didn't stop you, not one second. I let you feast upon my innocence, drink my untainted blood, and I was stupid enough to believe you when you told me you did all of that for our friendship.

Being gullible and naive was one thing, but being stupid was another.

Until now, I question myself on what I feel about you. Love isn't enough of an answer and it will never be.

I am upset at the very thought of you, but am I really? You send shivers up my spine, yet not a single drop of my blood boils at you. Your name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, yet I do not spit it out with disdain. Your scent reminds me of your sins and dishonesty, yet it drives me insane.

I despise your reputation wherever you go, but truthfully speaking, was I really? No matter where you go, people would shout your name as if you were a dangerous God that smites whoever crosses you. Yet I stood beside you in those times, whispering your name and holding your hand.

I was not your slave, you never treated me as one. I was not your pet either, you didn't let me sit on your lap and be an obedient little thing to you. I am none of those things to you.

Now I wonder what I truly am to you. Did I mean anything to you? Was I worth keeping around? Did my flesh and soul suffice your hunger? Does your heart beat erratically in your chest the same way mine does for you?

Knowing you— at least I think I did —you could give me the most painful answer to all of these, yet I know better than to take everything to heart.

Or perhaps that's just my coping mechanism.

You'd tell me that I meant less to you than a piece of crumpled paper, but at least I still meant something. You'd say I was just your favourite little pass time, then I'd get my hopes up because I'm still your favourite. You'd insist that I taste just as bland as a flavourless piece of gum, and I'd think to myself that gums were chewed a long amount of time until the person spits it out.

I could already guess all of your answers to those questions, and I was certain that they were correct.

This leaves me with the final question.

Although I am afraid to admit it, I already knew what is your answer for this one as well.

You feel nothing more than apathy— do you even feel?

Oh, then I remember— you're a black hole. One that destroyed and devoured anything in your part. Black holes do not have hearts nor emotions, much like you.

You do not feel anything for me.