Tags
angry, boyfriend, boys, confused, damaged, date, emotional, eyes, hate, hurt, love, lunch, post, rant, sad, upset, writing
I pluck the petals from a flower. Does he love me? Does he not? It varies each day. Most days are drowned in melancholy and my lips are tainted with the poison that lingers on his. His touch is sometimes ever so soft against my defenseless, weak skin while other days it’s a knife drawing hate all over my innocent body.
The lunch date.
The tiny hope that the warm teacup resting against the palm of my hands and the smell of freshly baked bread will whisk away all painful ties between us two. We smile. We laugh. We touch. We kiss. We love.
The next day his words come at me like an automatic weapon. Bang. Bang. Bang. The tears escape my eyes the moment I leave his side but he doesn’t know. Even if he did he wouldn’t care. Not until the next lunch date.
Why do I bother? I ask myself every night when I go to sleep thinking about his handsome face and every morning when I wake to the thought of him beside me. I trace my fingertips against the soft rose sheets of my bed, imagining his warm breath against my soft morning face.
Days go by without us seeing one another. I feel strong, invincible. “I don’t need him, it’s over!” I tell myself over and over again as I rise with confidence. I see him. I fall back to the scared, pathetic child inside within seconds the moment his eyes meet mine. I mutter my hellos, which slide off my lips like daggers coated with a hint of bitterness. He notices and calls me a bitch. Every morning we are together.
The cycle repeats.
Does he love me? Does he not? Lunch date. Bang, bang, bang. It’s over. His eyes. Bitch.
I know I deserve better. I know there are many suitors who crave the taste of my delicate skin. I know there are plenty of men who could place me atop a throne and cherish my every breath. I know I will never change the monster within him or persuade him to love me, truly. I know every time I pluck the petals from the flowers I will land on he loves me not.
I know all of this
but those lunch dates make me forget it all
Bohemian Wolf 