You were my first kiss.
I used to think that a first kiss meant something until you fucked me over. You played me like one of your video games you were so attached to. Or better yet the guitar strings you practiced day in and day out. You promised to always be there for me and in the beginning you wanted to know everything; my favorite color, my biggest regret, my dream date. But as the days went on you grew tired of me and threw me aside so that you could go play with another girl.
You probably didn’t even realize how heartbroken I was.
I remember a couple weeks later I was having a panic attack at work and you wouldn’t let me go home until you were sure I was going to be okay. We drove and drove for what felt like forever until finally you parked your car and just let the October air grow still between us. You let me run my fingers through your hair until your blue eyes grew so heavy you fell asleep. You promised me you wouldn’t but you ended up passing out anyways. The moment was nothing short of how I imagine infinity to feel. Of how I had always imagined my time with you to be. The noises in my head were silenced and the heaviness I had felt just hours before was gone. You made me feel safe, protected.
It made me feel like we could still be in love again, like I could still touch you and you would feel something.
Like you had never hurt me before and you never intended on leaving me again. You loved me. Man, did you love me. And at 3:24 AM sitting in the backseat of your mini-van watching the street lights from a lookout, this is how I fell in love with you again by mistake.
Maybe you felt something too because you never could look me in the eyes after that night. You quit talking to me all together, quit responding to my calls, quit acknowledging my existence when we were merely 2 feet apart. I guess I eventually grew tired of the game and moved on. I can’t recall exactly when I realized you were never going to come knock on my door and offer to change your ways for me, but I did. I realized how naive I was and how selfish of me to believe that I was so important to you, that eventually you would regret hurting me. I wonder now, almost two years later, if you still remember anything about me.
Do you remember the way I would play with the lines in the palm of your hand? Or how nervous you made me feel? Did I ever make you feel the same way?