Sometimes the worst part of it all, isn’t losing him, it’s losing myself.
How does a heart that’s broken so many times still not learn from its mistakes.
How does the heart still beat, achingly, day after day; trusting, day after day.
I should have known how this would end, from the moment I saw him walking towards me. He has that smile, it’s one that has won many hearts over the years of his life. But he knows that.
His eyes, they looked at me, like I was his from the very beginning. His hands, when they held mine, it fit perfectly; but maybe he’s that extra jigsaw piece the put in the mix, the one where all sides would fit any piece perfectly.
The way he laughed, it came from deep within his soul. He said we should be friends, but his words always wanted more.
Piece by piece, I watched myself, lost myself to his kind words, soft kisses and gentle arms. I watched myself needing his voice every morning, and before I went to sleep. Sometimes, in between a bad day too, or what the hell, on a good day even more.
He listened to my stories, he told me his secrets – we shared our worlds together, behaving like 17 year olds all over again. He told me this, again and again. I felt like this teenage dream. I smiled, giggled and did all the right things.
He made his whiskey promises, I believed them all and thought this was what a perfect love story begins like.
He told me, I would always have a hand to hold, someone who would shout at me when things went wrong, someone who would call me concerned when I went out drinking with my friends, someone who wanted to meet my friends and see the me I am with the people I love – wondering if I was still the same.
And that grin on his dimpled face, when he realised that I was – because deep down, he was my warm, warm glow of sunshine and happiness.
He told me, he would always be there.
Of course, my beating heart that was slowly and steadily falling for him, ignored all the warning signs. All the reasons I should stop calling; all the reasons I should stop believing. My mind asked me to be wary, but whose going to listen to that fool?
To my tears and anger, he said I was a girl who loved melancholy and not one that could truly love someone.
It’s such a shame, I’m actually Juliet, whose just falling in love.
He’s the guy who makes me wonder, if I could go back in time, and warn myself of all this pain and anger, would I go back and change it all – what’s crazy is that I wouldn’t.
It’s obvious, I’m Juliet, waiting for my Romeo; waiting for my perfect tragedy.
Just maybe, maybe the next time, I’ll get my fairy tale.