(mine all mine) 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

how many in a lifetime?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ೃ༄

    how many people do you get to call yours? there are all sorts of loves in this world, not all of them, but most of them are beautiful. some are courageous, comfortable, and addicting. others are dishonourable and weak, making you the same by association. some are subtle, some are maddening. some you can't ignore- they slow burn inside you until eventually it bursts from your chest like a house in flames. sometimes that fire never quite goes out completely and you're too scared to blow out the flame. some loves engulf you like a giant hug, coming out of nowhere and so unexpected. some loves you pretend you can't feel, even though you know it's there and you can't escape it. and even when you pretend it's not there, you drive yourself crazy because you know you're in love. you pretend you don't love him because loving him is as painful as a splinter digging deep into your skin because it puts weight in your heart and melancholy in your eyes and if there's anything you learned about time it's that it doesn't matter. you'll love him forever anyways.

     "i like this one," matt said, tugging on the thin material of the dress you wore. it clung to your body, accentuating the naturals dips and curves you owned. you looked at matt through the mirror, and his eyes were dark as he studied your frame. you stared at your reflection in matt's bedroom mirror. tilting your head, squinting your eyes, and pretending you were the only girl who's been in here lately.

    "you think?" you replied, blushing a little.

    "totally." he winked, pressing a quick peck to your cheek before throwing on his jacket.

    the love you shared with matt was a complicated one. it was a push and pull of emotions; perhaps a cycle or a consistent routine as a better explanation. one minute matt gave you every ounce of attention he could give you, and the next minute he was in some other girls bed. that sent you into a spiral, angry and upset and confused and indifferent all at the same time. this wasn't a new thing, it happened all the time, so why weren't you used to it? why did it affect you just as much as it had affected you the first time it happened? and so, to get back at matt, you didn't speak to him for a minimum of three days. and it absolutely killed matt.

    being friends (or whatever you'd call this relationship) with your ex wasn't something you expected to happen. but it was just too damn difficult to walk out of his life like it was nothing, like he was nothing. you couldn't do it. it wasn't healthy, you knew that. you were completely, totally, and definitely aware that the relationship you had with matt wasn't healthy, and maybe that's what made it worse. you knew you shouldn't keep crawling back to matt, you knew that these feelings and the anger you had for him some days weren't normal. you knew that the lack of respect, empathy, and the lack of nurturing love wasn't good for you. you knew you shouldn't be going back to him. you knew you shouldn't be still doing this. but you couldn't stop. you loved him too much to make yourself stop.

"you look good," you muttered, eyeing him up and down in the mirror. he chuckled. he knew he looked good. he always looked good.

"thanks, pretty girl." he said, and the nickname made you want to crawl out of your own skin. it sent shivers up and down your spine, and you just wanted to be his pretty girl again. he turned you around, and got really close to you. your eyes poured into his, and you could get lost in those icy blue eyes of his, drawing you in like that of a tidal wave. they were just so blue. you could feel his breath on your face when he spoke. "you look even better."

your breath hitched before pulling out of his grasp, breaking his fierce eye contact that seemed to hold you under a spell.

"we should go. we're already late." you said.