Untitled, Bitch.

So I mostly just realized that my blog has scary pictures so here we are

Jessie, you said. Your name is Jessie.

 

I just nodded, my highly passive attitude shining through, and you laughed. 

Well, you told me, the laugh still in your eyes, it's nice to meet you, Jessie.

 

And now months later, here we are, with me still in love with you and you still wishing I wasn't.

 

I'm here to apologize. I'm sorry that I wrote you that letter, and I'm sorry I let you read it. I'm sorry for the way I was willing to do whatever you needed, but not whatever you wanted. I'm sorry for the way I grabbed your face in my hands and kissed you, kissed you like I needed you. I'm sorry that you couldn't attend prom with Dream Girl. I'm sorry for the everything that reminds me of you, and I'm sorry that I let you in. I'm sorry for loving you.

 

The above paragraph is a lie. I really am not sorry for any of that, because I desperately tasted your lips one time and they tasted like repentance. Don't you deny that your hands found my waist and then my back and then wound in my boring old brown hair. And that after our lips met our eyes did too. You know how good I am at eyes. Yours spelled out no trace of regret. They don't now, either.

Jessie, you said, I like that giggle. And don't tell me you haven't been trying for ways to tug it out of me.

The point is, I think you're in love with me, too. And I only say that because I can see it in your eyes, and as hard as you've tried to forget me, you can't bring yourself to regret me.