My little boy story...

  Like Gillian Flynn thought, that maybe we are all play-acting, there can be no such thing as soulmates, because we don't have genuine souls. I will tell you a story about my ex-boyfriend. The love we shared rather I shared since there was no giving but just taking from me. Love can't really be placed. You do not know what or where to place the optimum emotion to define love. Is it when you are feeling safe? Or when you are feeling so in tune with him? But this is the way I like to define mine, that love is a broad spectrum, a wide and long road to ups and downs, storms and black ice, fights and spilled blood, good and bad days but there is this common ground and the softest spot about love, the undefeated and undefinable connection between two people. But is it really soft? My ex-boyfriend used to mind fuck me and I swear there is no other pleasure more thrilling and sinful to which I could agree. I liked the way he played with my mind. One moment he wants me the next he shrugs with every touch. He made me fall in love with his pain and found pleasure in dancing on his scars <not literally> I felt at home in melancholy for the first time in my mind. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought I had this kind of feelings or emotions. Never did I realize that I was getting into some dark pit every time I drunk from his cup of love. Did he know my love for him somewhat felt like breathing in pain little by little and breathing out anger all at once. Love is two-sided but what I really felt was that he kept on taking from me and what I was left with and left of me was an empty shell. Would I have left? I would! But as soon as I see someone else getting close to him I got jealous. The kind that felt like a blade slitting my chest open. I could tell all his confessions were lies and all his promises were empty. Everything was so clear. Clear that I could see through them and what I saw on the other side is what I feel right now, it's what am going through. From lying in bed, smoking my eyes out, drinking my thoughts away with a red bulb on; that red hue. The hue of grief. I knew I would have stopped this. I would have stayed away. But there was no way to tell if it was over or had it even began? Now all there is of me are warm memories. Memories that should be old but I feel utterly warm if I relived them! How is being manipulative, forgetting but not forgiving, a thousand seconds and more of being patient, worth being stuck on somebody! He was not even lovable, he was a calm, soft monster in the inside, a cold, really cold child. Draw a picture of his soul and I swear it would be a bloody war-like picture, blood everywhere, daggers on the air and screams here and there. And for some reason I am convinced, will always be convinced that his soul and my soul are two really old friends colliding in all dimensions, spaces, universes. So tell me did you feel like you belonged?

DISCLAIMER: Your little, flair heart that loves soft unicorn and cupcakes affection won't relate. So go back and cuddle with your shallow-minded little boyfriend!