anyways.

him.

Once, he held my hand, and placed his lips on mine with feverish hunger --no-- desire to be more exact.

I remember the grass on my back and his hands beneath my shirt, playing with the skin beneath. The warmth of summer danced across our skin as we embraced in its beauty, consumed by our adolescent desires.

I thought I loved him.

I thought he loved me.

But, the desire and flame that grew between us was nothing more than physical yearning, a blissful idea of spring that would one day welcome us in its world, its beauty. But much as Ophelia, I was deceived. He had his way with me then threw me aside, seeing past my gaze to a doe whose charm caught him like a bird. Entrapped, he forgot of me and left me and all things we had once had behind.

The tears and self hatred came along at the  realization that, at all times, I would be a second choice, a toy to mess around with until wishes were fufilled. Something to be used and left when done with.

He broke me with his soft words and empty promises. He used me and forgot me, yet I am still here, two years later, wondering why I cannot forget him.