We danced. You took me home. I wrote my number on the paper the paper case which held your mail in Netflix DVD. The next morning it began to snow. A sweet snow I will never forget. The kind of snow that lands gently on your outer-coat and stays a bit unmelting, but that ruins it just enough to remind you that you’ve met love. a stain of love that has never left you since. For days, months and years we lay intertwined in vast mast of records, nintendo controllers and packets of vanilla tea.
Time went on and you took other lovers, openly and secretly. Days passed and I was your favorite but never good enough to be yours completely. You didn’t want a girlfriend, you often cried.
Now I am old and wary of everyone I meet. When we met I was young and open to the emotional trauma of falling In love with someone who was only with me sometimes.
But the question is how can I, a strong woman, still long to run my fingers through the soft locks of someone who seemingly never gave a full damn if I was with him or not? I probably still would after numerous rejections and courtings back and forth. Although I should not. Is this matter of self-esteem, delusions, or just a casualty of falling for the wrong person?
The men I have rejected since are countless, as I seek to feel what I felt on that first snow. The saddest thing is I’m not the only girl that feels this way for you. And I have been foolish.