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Description
My hair was pinned away from my eyes because I didn't want to miss anything.

When I look back on the day we met, I wish I had let my bangs down to shield my so-juvenile eyes from yours – lanterns of jaded reality.

I was ordering a coffee and noticed you scribbling forcefully across a much-abused page that would have probably yielded to the pressure if not for the tables support.

As I got closer though my eyes fell across your long lashes and thin wrists and I had this desire to hold you in my arms and break your grim exterior with my need-to-please lips.

I hadn't noticed I had stopped right next to you until you glanced up. Sometimes you just can't ignore physical attraction; especially when you're barely controlling your hands from reaching out to count the freckles scattered across their cheekbones.

--

I thought you were so cool with your poetry and cigarettes.

Naivety made me believe that I could sew you back together; I'm good with a needle. If I held you delicately, said all the right words and never made you mad you would come to trust me and your smiles would no longer be such a rare sight.

Then I realized that there wasn't a needle for patching up bitterness and melancholy.

You built a mote of eggshells to keep you safe from harm; but it only kept you from feeling anything at all. I tried to swim across it but they cracked beneath my fingers and I never made it close enough to break inside.

--

I decided it didn't matter how many pretty lies I folded off the tip of my tongue; there would come a day where you would be happy and I would be the cause.

I always came to you, never the other way around. I would trace your lobe with my teeth and whisper heavy fragility into your ear.

You would smirk as I spoke my opinions and beliefs, a condescending laugh to show me how little I knew about life compared to you.

I made you my everything, and you made sure I knew how little that mattered.

--

I was ecstatic because of the long awaited invitation to tag along to one of the shows you frequented. It wasn't long after arrival that I felt like the cactus sitting in the middle of a flower bed.

You calmly lit one of your cigarettes and leaned against the bar with your eyes gazing steadily at the band (poetry with an edge of badly tuned guitar).

I was left standing awkwardly in clothes ten shades too happy with my eyes staring longingly at the small strip of skin exposed above your jeans and wondering if I would ever catch you looking at me with the same heat in your eyes.

A girl with bluish-green hair piled atop her head came to stand in front of you. She had slanted eyes and skin a shade only achieved by regular SPF applications and black curtains. You guys talked about bands with ridiculous names and some unknown poet that would be reciting at an exclusive event next week. That's when I saw it in your eyes; they were brimming with admiration for her superior knowledge and coy smile. She was considered your equal, and I stood all night waiting to be introduced.

--

I sat on your bed crying, and you told me to stop acting childish as you impatiently brushed away my tears. I wanted security but most of all I wanted you to see me as a woman and not some inexperienced brat.

I ended up with smeared mascara, asking please as I pressed my thumb against the zipper of your jeans. You stood over me finishing off a cigarette and I sat naked and alone on the stage of your bed.

We would make love and I would finally transform from this awkward adolescence to cool confidence, and you would forget all about the girl with the mermaid hair.

You stubbed out your cigarette and slipped between my legs and I felt many things, but not what I wanted. When I saw your eyes, they were the same eyes that you had when drinking coffee or lighting a cigarette; I was just another fix, another way to make you feel alive.

You were gripping my hips and I finally stopped gripping anything at all and just numbly lay there feeling the last of my optimism seep out and mix in our sweat.

--

Now a year later and you're with a new bright-eyed hopeful girl.

And here I am in front of the bathroom mirror brushing out my purple dyed hair and wondering when the boy laying in my bed will realize I'm feeding off his happiness and soon, really soon, he will look in the mirror and wonder who shut off the light in his eyes.

Description
My hair was pinned away from my eyes because I didn't want to miss anything.

When I look back on the day we met, I wish I had let my bangs down to shield my so-juvenile eyes from yours – lanterns of jaded reality.

I was ordering a coffee and noticed you scribbling forcefully across a much-abused page that would have probably yielded to the pressure if not for the tables support.

As I got closer though my eyes fell across your long lashes and thin wrists and I had this desire to hold you in my arms and break your grim exterior with my need-to-please lips.

I hadn't noticed I had stopped right next to you until you glanced up. Sometimes you just can't ignore physical attraction; especially when you're barely controlling your hands from reaching out to count the freckles scattered across their cheekbones.

--

I thought you were so cool with your poetry and cigarettes.

Naivety made me believe that I could sew you back together; I'm good with a needle. If I held you delicately, said all the right words and never made you mad you would come to trust me and your smiles would no longer be such a rare sight.

Then I realized that there wasn't a needle for patching up bitterness and melancholy.

You built a mote of eggshells to keep you safe from harm; but it only kept you from feeling anything at all. I tried to swim across it but they cracked beneath my fingers and I never made it close enough to break inside.

--

I decided it didn't matter how many pretty lies I folded off the tip of my tongue; there would come a day where you would be happy and I would be the cause.

I always came to you, never the other way around. I would trace your lobe with my teeth and whisper heavy fragility into your ear.

You would smirk as I spoke my opinions and beliefs, a condescending laugh to show me how little I knew about life compared to you.

I made you my everything, and you made sure I knew how little that mattered.

--

I was ecstatic because of the long awaited invitation to tag along to one of the shows you frequented. It wasn't long after arrival that I felt like the cactus sitting in the middle of a flower bed.

You calmly lit one of your cigarettes and leaned against the bar with your eyes gazing steadily at the band (poetry with an edge of badly tuned guitar).

I was left standing awkwardly in clothes ten shades too happy with my eyes staring longingly at the small strip of skin exposed above your jeans and wondering if I would ever catch you looking at me with the same heat in your eyes.

A girl with bluish-green hair piled atop her head came to stand in front of you. She had slanted eyes and skin a shade only achieved by regular SPF applications and black curtains. You guys talked about bands with ridiculous names and some unknown poet that would be reciting at an exclusive event next week. That's when I saw it in your eyes; they were brimming with admiration for her superior knowledge and coy smile. She was considered your equal, and I stood all night waiting to be introduced.

--

I sat on your bed crying, and you told me to stop acting childish as you impatiently brushed away my tears. I wanted security but most of all I wanted you to see me as a woman and not some inexperienced brat.

I ended up with smeared mascara, asking please as I pressed my thumb against the zipper of your jeans. You stood over me finishing off a cigarette and I sat naked and alone on the stage of your bed.

We would make love and I would finally transform from this awkward adolescence to cool confidence, and you would forget all about the girl with the mermaid hair.

You stubbed out your cigarette and slipped between my legs and I felt many things, but not what I wanted. When I saw your eyes, they were the same eyes that you had when drinking coffee or lighting a cigarette; I was just another fix, another way to make you feel alive.

You were gripping my hips and I finally stopped gripping anything at all and just numbly lay there feeling the last of my optimism seep out and mix in our sweat.

--

Now a year later and you're with a new bright-eyed hopeful girl.

And here I am in front of the bathroom mirror brushing out my purple dyed hair and wondering when the boy laying in my bed will realize I'm feeding off his happiness and soon, really soon, he will look in the mirror and wonder who shut off the light in his eyes.