#keepburningreaper

Have you ever wanted to dye your hair any other color than light brown? Who convinced you to dye it in the first place?

Did you ever love me? Or just see me as a pawn. So desperately in love with you and easy to manipulate. Someone to keep around to fluff your ego. You probably don’t even think of me. I’m just a tucked away memory of the boy you destroyed, useless and pathetic. Not worthy of loving.

Your nickname for me was cookie. 
I loved it when you called me that. 
With your warm smile and bubbly laugh, whispering in the back of math class. That’s where you made me kiss you. 
In that back row where we could do whatever we wanted because the teacher had given up on trying to control you and make you pay attention. And by extension the teacher gave up on me. She understood I was yours. You would sit and be quiet if I was back there with you. Your cookie. I remember kissing you so quick and so full of anxiety. I don’t even think it was on your mouth, all I remember is your voice telling me to kiss you and knowing I couldn’t say no to you. Saying no risked you getting mad. Risked not being your cookie anymore. And how would I have survived not being by your side. The more I lay here thinking about you the more I remember. I remember every smile and laugh that made me fall for you. But I also remember every second of fear that you sparked in my chest. Every tear I shed thinking that I had lost you. Feeling sick every time I saw you bleed. I’m not your cookie anymore. I haven’t been for years. I hope the person who replaced me knows what they are getting into. That you are a drug that will never fully leave their system. Loving you was a bad trip, it left me with scars I haven’t been able to see until three years later. I’m realizing new places of my heart where you left your mark. I will never be able to forget about you.

I never even officially dated you. I was in a two year long serious relationship after you and I’ve been out of that for six months now and you’d think he’d be the one stuck in my brain. But no. Here I am. Thinking about you again. Thinking about how much I longed for you. How much I wanted your lips on mine and to hold your hand and introduce you to people as my girlfriend. People usually assume that it’s the boy who will wreck you. Abuse you and be able to ruin you day three years later just at the thought of your laugh. But this girl ruined me. And I never even dated her. And somehow. Even though I can see all of the ways you fucked me up. I still regret not being able to call you my ex-girlfriend.

I thought I saw you once. A year later at a concert. The panic attack I endured while waiting in line, not focusing on anything but the girl I thought was you until I realized that it wasn’t. I could picture you yelling at me again, furious that I had new friends and attacking me. I could see you pestering me all night long, back at my side like glue telling me all of the things you would do if I didn’t come hang out with you. How pathetic is that, just the shadow of you, the thought of being at the same event as you, is enough to make me tremble in fear. To make me want to curl up and hide. The thought of hearing your voice again terrifies me. With just a few words and a well placed nickname and I would be putty in your hands. I’d be back to that same little kid, longing for you to love me. I never want to be caught in your storm again.