An Open Letter To A Fuckboy

man looking at ocean
Braden Barwich

My Dearest Fuckboy,

Why do I sit here waiting for a text? No matter the hour, how long we converse, it always brightens my day. It always has me yearning for more of you, of your words, your humor, your wit.

Why do I want you to want me? There are times you say you do.

There are moments when your eyes will pierce me, fooling me that the words from your mouth speak truth, and not your usual lies. Why do I give in to you every time? You joke how you have me wrapped around your finger and I joke that you don’t. We both know you do.

But why?

Why do I love your kisses? Your lips always so sweet, always so passionate. The way you smell. Your big smile. How you dress yourself. Why do I want to be with you? Why would I ever want to be with someone who doesn’t see how wonderful I am? Someone with such confidence falls to pieces at your presence. I feel pathetic when it comes to you.

Why do you consume my mind all day? Leaving me with wonders of the fun we could have, wonders of why you aren’t into me, why you lie, why you never see my worth, see my greatness…


I hope one day you ask yourself those same questions. Some girl will come and take your eyes away and all you will be left with is, why? Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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