I hate the way you still make your way into my mind. How you still make your way into my decisions, I sometimes think of something I want to do and wonder how that’d make you feel.
I sometimes wake up, and feel the ghost of your arms around me, and your phantom breath on my neck. I feel goosebumps all over my body, like if you had just whispered in my ear.
All those memories and experiences we had, still haunt me, and they hurt sometimes.
When I wake up suddenly at 3am, I know is out of habit, because you used to called me or text me around that time, when you couldn’t fall asleep and you really needed someone.
Whenever I feel like shit, because my family did something to me, the first person I want to talk to is you, but you are not here, and I want you to never be here again.
You never admitted it, but you went to Office Max, and bought color pens, and Sharpies, and brought them over to me, so I could used them. You pretended to get annoyed when I used them too much, but I could see you smile when I started drawing hearts all over your notebooks.
I remember when we first started talking how I took one of your precious color pens, it was the hot pink one. I used it for days, for weeks, for months. I pretended like it wasn’t yours, and you saw me used it and you said nothing.
I remember your big smile when I told you “I love you” after you helped me reset my iPod Touch.
I remember your big bear hugs and how good they made me feel.
I remember that time you promise me to make that woman pay for embarrassing me. Three days later her tires were slashed and they had to call a tow truck.
I hate that one Puerto Rican rapper, because you love him. You made your ringtone on my phone one of his songs, and to this day I hate that song.
I loved how you were the first to ever appreciate my art. When you left I didn’t draw or do anything art related, because it reminded me too much of you. If you could only see the things I can do now….
I found all the drawings I made you and never gave you, and all the ones you colored for me because “I am bored, and they are pretty great and you’d only ruin them if I don’t color them”, and I broke them into little pieces.
To this day, whenever I use a highlighter I remember you and how you treated me like a little girl because “You can’t highlight everything in a page. Only the important parts!” To this day I sometimes highlight an entire paragraph just because I know it would piss you off.
I know you hated how I manage the highlighter marker, and how I highlighted things, you said: “I cannot believe you can draw when you are horrible at the simplest thing, like highlighting a book!” Now I know how to manage a highlighter.
I remember that one horrible French teacher that told you that you should asked me to help you, since I looked like I would do anything for you. You looked at me with big surprise and I was speechless. I don’t know what you saw on my face that day, but you looked disappointed.
A week later we had a big project to hand over on History class, the teacher gave us the choice to do it in pairs or alone. I did it alone, because I love doing stuff alone. Turns out you didn’t do yours, you begged me with big flirty eyes and smiles, to put your name on mine, and I did, and we got an A. Now I know you used me….
Eventually you “caught” me using your hot pink pen, in class. For some reason you got mad and asked me to give it back. I did. And that was the beginning of the end.
I was on my laptop, and a message popped up on my facebook. A girl from school, two years younger than me, told me she knew who I liked. I Said that if she meant Joe Jonas, she was completely right!. She called me a little bitch, and told me that I should totally pay more attention to my clothes, my hair, and my make up. She said she knew I was in love with you, and she was saying those things because she had LOTS of experience with guys, I told her that I didn’t care about any superficial stuff and the way she bragged about her experience made her seem like an attention seeking slut. She swore you were her best friend’s boyfriend, and I knew you were. I knew about all your “girlfriends”.
You changed schools, I still had two years of that Spanish class with the teacher you loved and gave a sculpture you made. I spent two years watching the little Don Quijote and wanting to kill it.
For two years I…
I remembered your insults.
I remembered the way you looked at my body in disgust.
I remembered how you CHOSE THEM.
I remembered how she insulted me in front of you, and you did nothing.
I remembered how much it hurt.
I remembered all the horrible things you put me through.
I remembered how your ex told me: “Don’t cry for him, he doesn’t deserve us!” And I remember thinking how little she really knew you.
I remember how you change seats in French class and History class.
I remember how you didn’t have lunch with me anymore.
I remember all of it…
For three years I wonder if you remembered.
One day, two years ago, I was walking through campus, and I saw you. You smile that big beautiful smile, and I felt myself melt. I put my bitch face on, because it still hurt to look at you. You said hello, you hugged me… I knew you didn’t remember. I promised not to remember anymore. I ignored you whenever I saw you. You did the same, eventually.
5 years since we met, 4 years since you left, and I still do all the things you would hate because you change my whole life, and I don’t want to please you in any way. You were my first everything, and I hate you for that. I want you to never be here, I don’t like to see you in everything. I really want you to go away, to leave me alone. Because I don’t want to ever go back to that horrible “relationship” we had. I hate you, because I still feel you. I’ve had relationships after you but I compared all my partners with you… I want to forget you forever, but you are tattooed to me, and sometimes you give me inspiration to write crappy unorganized paragraphs like this.