once, i accidentally told a boy i loved him in a poem.
i actually meant to say that i didn’t even like him all that much, that i was using him, but he misread it, and i was kinda afraid to tell him the truth so i went with it. i mean, i let him believe that i loved him first (i’m pretty sure he lowered his guard after that).
later, he loved me but i still didn’t love him and i felt really bad so i went with it. i mean, i tried really hard until one day i was kinda tired of trying so i just stopped and a little while later i told him and then he was mad. because, i think, i told him i loved him first. i should’ve been safe. (it was so clear, i’m guessing, that i wanted him, and he thought i was cute enough and he could put up with the crazy enough because i was cute enough and loved him enough. i should’ve been safe.) except, i… wasn’t.
looking back, i probably should’ve told the truth earlier, and sometimes i still feel really bad, but other times i feel really good knowing that he loved me even though i didn’t love him back. he might be the first person who ever loved me. i know he was the first boy to ever love me out loud.
still though, i find myself thinking about him, and wishing i could take me back (take his experience of me back, keep my experience of him). i wish i could’ve been loved by him without hurting him. i’m sorry, sometimes, that he met me. because i should’ve been safe and i wasn’t.
it’s so weird how i’m bad and good in one breath. how i find it really hard to separate the sinful parts of me from the pure parts. am i hard on myself? or do i just know myself really really well? do i, like no one else, understand that even my best intentions are swimming in a sea of my darkest sins?