Hurt isn't quite the word for what she did to me. I mean it was my first real relationship. It was the first taste I had of what I thought was real love. Definitely just a thought. Wasn't real. Wasn't genuine. And wasn't for me at all. Countless times I allowed her to make a young, dumb, and in love fool out of me. This ex needed attention, or that ex just had to see her one last time. Each time I shed a few tears until she promised to never do it again. Then, I would dry my tears and let her continue to give me..love? The promises got old quickly, but so did her attempts at affection. The "I'm sorry's" turned into red marks — that if asked about, I would say "just an allergic reaction." I'm not allergic to a damn thing, but it kept questions to a minimum. Just when I'd run out of food to be allergic to...BOOM. There it was. Written in bold cursive across the length of her ring finger. It was cute, but senseless. It was..my name. Now, what'd you go and do that for? She claimed it was proof of the last promise she'd ever have to make. It was too late, though. I thought it to be ironic that she'd get it in the finger I broke because, to me, it was an exact replica of what our relationship was. Broken. The next day, three tiny pecks on my neck from the softest lips imaginable changed everything. She was the cause of my pain, but I don't think she'll ever know that she pushed me right into the arms of my own personal pain killer. Well, hello. We meet again.
