The Diary of a Fallen Girl

no faced

I always knew humans were evil.

Not inherently, no; but you proved my theory that deep down, everyone has the ability to crush another.

You made me love you. How could I not? You told me it was safe. You brought me little purple flowers in the mornings and I squeezed into your hoodies during the cold winter days, peeking my head out at the people who stared. We held hands while sneaking off to watch the birds, even though I watched you more than I did them. You learned how to play my ukulele and every time you looked, you stared at me with such admiration that I couldn't resist giving you everything. You never lied to me, but I don't think you ever knew what the truth was, either.

It was so innocent, our love. It was the kind that you would see in a movie, just two silly little teenagers running around a town full of nobodies, wanting to be somebody. You wanted to be everything. You were a dreamer, always. We were always good at pretending, until eventually, we weren't.

I lost you long before you left me.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment that we fell apart. When I think of the tragedy that we became, I think back to the day where you followed me around the gym track and kept asking me if I wanted the boys attention for wearing leggings. I genuinely can't think of anything I did wrong, not anything that would make your treatment of me justifiable. Of course, we argued, but all I ever wanted was the best for you. Second to that came my own happiness, and that's why we lasted so long. I killed myself so you could live. It was not heroic or hopeless romance. It was a mess, it was pathetic, and it was weak. Losing you was an excuse for me to hurt.

The boy I used to love is now a stranger to me. Perhaps I am still in love with a form of you that no longer exists; a form of you that may not have ever existed. I'm not quite sure, and I don't think I'll ever be. All I know is that when I look at you in the hallways, I can no longer believe the soft, sad eyes. They were the same eyes you would give to me when we laid in bed together and talked. They are the same brown eyes that were full of love for me.

They are the same brown eyes that looked at me and tore out every inch of my heart. They're the same brown eyes that read the cruel words you typed out and sent to me, the same brown eyes that looked me in mine and laughed coldly.

I don't know who you are anymore, and I don't think I ever did. That fact is, perhaps, the most heartbreaking of them all.

I think the hardest part of your absence is convincing myself that you don't love me. That you wouldn't take me back tomorrow. It'd be so much easier to see you fall in love with someone else. Genuinely.

I cannot stand looking at you when I know it's all just an act. I wish I didn't understand you. I wish I didn't know you.

I fell in love with someone a long time ago, and he is not you anymore. You have shed the love I gave you; thrown it to the side haphazardly.

You were never two faced, nor were you ever one. In fact, I believe you didn't have a face until after losing me. It was a catalyst of life for you, at the small price of mine.

Thank you for the tragedy,

I need it for my art.