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Return to Sender
The first thing you need to know is that I loved him. I loved him with all my heart, all the way to the moon and the stars and back. You also need to know, he doesn’t love me. I thought he did, I was convinced he did. He made me feel more special than any other boy has ever made me feel. His smile ignited a fire in my heart that caused my face to turn the color of a deep rose. He challenged me, he made me think, he played “The Game”. Every guy plays “The Game” but he was an expert. To him, manipulating me, was easier than breathing. But whenever he played with me, it made my heart go wild. It filled me with uncontrollable laughter and plastered a smile on my face every time. Whenever I saw him, we would have a battle. I would try to drive him as crazy as he drove me. But with every battle, I came out with nothing but scars. I thought I would have a chance at winning the war. I thought I could get him to confess what he felt, or what I thought he felt, for me. There were many kisses shared, moments of passion, and many tears shed. One day he’d play it hot and the next he would be ice. Of course, like every normal girl, that drove me wild. But one night was different from the rest.
I was sitting at the bar, the same one where we always have our matches. However, this time, he wasn’t coming to play. He came to win.
He walked in and right away I noticed something was different. The mood in the air changed and my heart was beating like an african drum. Our eyes connected and there was no one else in the room. I tried to play it cool, I tried to start the round, but he wasn’t playing. He came to me and sat there, asking me questions and being all sweet. Finally he turned to me and said “do you want to get out of here?”. It had never gone this fast or this far. I was shocked but, of course, I jumped on the opportunity without hesitation. I thought I had finally won, I was convinced he was going to claim me for his own once and for all. We went back to his place. He lulled me into the bed and started slowly. But the tension built, and soon it was passionate.
I got caught in the spider’s web and he didn’t hesitate to kill.
He walked me home, hand in hand, he was being sweet.
I was silently declaring myself the victor in my head, with a smile plastered on my face.
We said goodnight, and parted ways.
I didn’t hear from him the next day, but that was typical. He was never much of a phone person so I didn’t expect anything.
The next time I saw him is when I realized how false my victory was. I had in fact lost the war.
I walked into the bar, ordered my usual drink and proceeded talking to my friends. I expected it to be a good night. I expected him to walk in and come straight to me, like a moth to a flame. My expectations were crushed.
He waltzed in. Something was different. He didn’t look at me, or acknowledge my presence. I tried to talk to him, but he was cold.
With every effort, I was brushed off as nothing but a nuisance.
I got the picture, he got what he wanted and he wanted nothing more.
I left, still delusional, still thinking he felt the same way for me as I did for him. He drove me crazy.
I started getting worse. I thought about him constantly, I couldn’t get him out of my head. My friends kept telling me, let it go, he doesn’t feel the same. I continued to make a fool of myself by throwing myself at him with every encounter or becoming so upset to the point that I would drunkenly text and call him. I would never do that for anyone else. He messed with my head. Put simply, he f**ked me up mentally.
Even though I realize this now, even though I know he doesn’t feel the same, a part of me is still attached to him. Maybe I’m not attached to him so much as the idea of him. The idea of him touching me again and giving me that look. The feeling of experiencing love or at least what I thought was love.
I miss his smile, I miss the taste of his lips, I miss the way he pulled me in tight, I miss the way he’d squeeze my hand, I miss his little quirks about his hand being on top of mine, I miss how he made me feel. Special.
I hate how he makes me cry. I hate how he makes me upset. I hate that I still love him, no matter how much he hurts me. I hate that I feel so much for someone who doesn’t feel. I hate how no one understands why I feel this way about him.
I put my heart on the line for him and he took it without regard for what it would do to me. He took it and he kept it and all I want is to get it back. I don’t care if it’s broken, I just want it back.
If you’re reading this, if you’re the one who’s in possession of my heart, please return to sender.