Conversations over lunch bring a lot into one’s mind. How many times he has to check his phone. How his girlfriend is insecure. He’s with a girl. He’s with a girl he loved. How many minutes is he taking to respond? 1, 5, 10. What could they do in that time? A kiss, a touch.
I hate myself for my body. That other girls hate me too. That I was born small and thin. That my hair never needs to be brushed. That my eyes can either show brown or green, and that makes people comment, “you’re unique.”
I hate myself for my personality. Blunt, sarcastic, mysterious. I am not trying to woo you, I am simply being myself. A girl that says how she feels and tells you what a piece of shit you are to others. I do not want you to follow me. I do not want you to love me. I do not want you to cheat with me.
I hate myself for what life does to us all. You were born in Spring, but I in Fall. And you know what happens in Autumn? Everything dies. Much like how I feel inside. And everyone thinks that is beautiful. Everyone wants to cure who I am. But once they take their reward, no one stays in the end.
I love myself for being a girl with blurred lines. Trying to understand everyone’s insides. Accepting people for the wrongs that they do. And loving everyone for being an un-named “you”.
How I see the sun in a light no one else can. And how I would never refuse lending a small hand. That even though who I am gives me such distaste, I love her regardless, I love at my own pace.
I want to love like the 90’s. The years I was true. 143. Me and you. A walk where we would stand side by side. Not me in the lead, not you as my guide. A love with no title. No tags, no likes. No left or right swipes.
Because love today, it doesn’t exist at all. The 90’s are dead. Perhaps it’s true after all.