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10 June 2009 @ 04:14 pm
Different POVs  
Wrote this in someone else's perspective. My way for feeling for a friend, when I don't really agree with some of her points of view. I need to feel like I can relate, so I write about it.

My fingers trace the outline of our faded heart on the car window. Delicate, long and nimble, they caress it like it still exists.

I think of his dog.
I think of his family.
I think of his room.
I think of his life.
Without me.

Will I ever make it? My knuckles twitch, and suddenly my hand forms a fist. I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm upset, I'm confused. What is this life? Why can he so easily mold me? How could I love him?

... How couldn't I love him?

Tears travel across my face, looking for hidden treasure. He used to call me Beautiful. Gorgeous. Baby. Now I see my reflection, and it looks hideous. Red splotches where eyes should be. A guzzling vacuum where the mouth should be. I am ugly. I am hideous.

I am me.

I want to say that if he doesn't like me for who I am, fuck him. But he does like me. After a year and a half, we couldn't be closer. He still cares about me. He still loves me. There's just no magic anymore. He's not in love. The problem is - or was - that I am, and I'll continue to be.

When I see his face in the halls, I will crumble.
Pieces of me will litter the ground.
All the mirrors in my house will break.
Nobody will love me like he did.
I will love no one like I loved him.

The car window's heart throbs with mine.