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When He Asked Me What Kind Of Girl I Am

“So what kind of girl are you then?” he asked looking me in that way. That way that meant he already knew every inch of me, knew every single part of my soul and was just asking to mock me and see if I trusted him. But it didn’t matter if I did, and it didn't matter what type of girl I was to him. Because our fate was inevitable. Because I am the girl that you fall in love with in college. I am the girl who will write you love songs at 4 am then insist we take a shower to wash away the sad thoughts in my mind. I am the girl who reads E.E. Cummings to you after we've had sex, insisting it was a one time thing. I am the girl that sits in the library, reading, deeply intoxicated with her book, but looks up everytime the door opens and smiles, as if the next person to walk in will sit with her. Because I am the girl that aches with loneliness but will never care to admit it . I am The girl who will push you away, and get drunk off her own sadness. Because I am the girl that will try to destroy herself time and time again until you prove that you love her. Because I am the girl that you fall in love with in college, but never end up with. I am the girl who marries a teacher or a writer  or someone who likes to teach people important lessons you can’t find in a textbook, and loves them deeply. I am the girl that lives in the small town that is too dumb for her. I am the girl that knows her intelligence but refuses to use it to make people feel small. And it doesn't matter how I answer his question, because I am the girl he will fall in love with, but leave, because her love is too strong, too deep, too much for him to handle. So he will leave me and marry another girl with much simpler emotions, but not as open minded, and not as kind, and not as free spirited. He will marry a girl who lays with him after sex, he will marry a girl who sleeps through the night and showers at 6 am when she wakes up for the day. He will marry a girl who only reads in the comfort of her home in her bed next to him. He will marry a girl who isn’t and won’t ever be me. So to spare him this big explanation, and cause a scene, I simply shrug my shoulders and reply,
"I suppose you'll just have to find out,"




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