A Conversation Between Broken Hearts

“him”:

Her strength lies in her ability to charm: innocence plagued with sardonic humour. A deadly combination. The day finally came when she was no longer interested in me, but in some other guy. He was blonde, had a six-pack, and poodle-like hair. Scruffy, but he oozed out confidence. He was the kind of guy who walked into a room and owned everything in it. It's not like it wasn’t appealing, I could see why she was into him.

“her”:

I didn’t know that time could stop before my lips met his. Every day, during my travels on the train, I cry out to our past love songs, reminisce at old photos of us, and helplessly try my best not to relive the nights that we stared deep into each other’s eyes, a time when both his hands gently caressed my waist... I finally felt at peace.

“octopus’s garden”:

On one of our thousands of phone calls, I remember she once told me: “You can’t live with regrets, because that’s how you end up hating yourself.” Sometimes I wonder if she knew what she was doing all along. It was as if she would purposely plant little seeds in my brain; like I was some experiment she was conducting. A calculated minx is what she was. Beautiful and cutthroat. At the time, I could care less about whether she really cared or if she was really bored. I still can’t quite fathom why out of all her suitors she chose to revolve her pretty little self around me. Am I…special? Or just lost…and stupid enough to fall into her twisted games of psychosis. I’m not her toy! Unless that’s what she always wanted me to be?

“something sweet”:

He had caramel skin, dark curly hair, and smiled like the sun. I got addicted fast and dangerously, just as I had always been used to. Nothing had changed, except everything. I was only beaming because I was so torn.

“black widow”:

You could just feel her excitement, and she was always more than happy to let you in, “you know you’re very persuasive.” I told her once. It made her smirk on the other end of the phone. She glanced down at her fresh, black, shellac nails, and said sweetly, “So are you.” I had never been happier.

Whether she meant it or not is another story, but she always had a way of knowing more about you, than you yourself: what you wanted, what made you tick…Validation was my weakness and she sniffed it out weeks before I did. “My father had been taking me driving since I was thirteen.” Her father- that was the story she would tell if she was interested in hooking you. In fact, it's even more dangerous than a hook because it always works!

She just had a way of talking to you that made you instantly want to prove yourself.

“confession”:

I was torn between helping him and hurting him. I wanted to break him so badly; he just seemed too perfect to be maintained in a world so heinous. I know because I’m a survivor of such heinous world. Think Maze Runner: Thomas was a man on a mission. He was morally confused and unmotivated at times, but all he wanted was success. Any kind of success. Even if it meant putting others before himself to make it out alive.

("him": See? Psychotic.)

“facts only”:

Every day gets slightly easier, and I try to play it cool, but one glance from her sends me unwinding like a DNA chromosome, and I always fall to pieces. She watches it unravel on my face. I’m a dead giveaway. Cracked. Eight months of her nonstop, 24/7 of My Love, and I’m cracked. Or maybe she’s on crack. Wouldn’t surprise me, but I don’t wish her any bad either.

“surviving”:

Because he felt like he was never enough, so did I. I questioned why this was and only internalized it into myself. I think it was a coping mechanism that my ego grew...although so did my empathy? Guilt. Perhaps I was teaching him how to fight a battle against myself; (whilst simultaneously all of humanity.) I remember telling him to always do what was right for him. Then, one day, he said that what was right for him was for us to be apart. I started to sweat and my heart went heavy, it cracked. The fruits of my labor had finally manifested.

What a sweet token of appreciation that was.

“angel of mine”:

Although she broke up with me, I take back the crack statement and reminisce about her eyes: they were like glass, sometimes they were fragile and the last thing you wanted was to shatter it, and other times all you could see was yourself- standing alone in their “shininess”. She really had a knack for bringing out your darkness. For such an airy creature, her features were quite dark, all that was fair was her skin, and perhaps her eyes to some extent. But, her hair, thin eyebrows, and mascara were all ebony. Stunning, but definitely a mistake on my part for thinking things would ever end well.

HER:

I’m sorry, that my all was all I could give; All I could do was love you in a broken way.

HIM:

Truth is: if broken hearts were enough to kill egos I know you’d still be mine.