I whispered sweet nothings. I laughed at every joke. I loved the eyes, the smile and the person. I cared for every wound that was physically inflicted and I flinched at the pain in the voice. I appreciated every second spent with the person and only. The words kept melting at my heart but all I could do was smile until my chubby cheeks(the ones that the person loves) hurts. I craved for the touch. I imagined ten years into the future with said person.
Then,
I thought I felt bored. I cried every single night. I withdrew myself. I spoke of grueling honesty. I toyed with emotions. I hung up in the middle of a conversation. I whispered apologies. I took a knife and slashed the heart that was willingly put into my rough, murderous hands, with no mercy softening my heart. I was Hitler of romance. I met the person and watched the back as the person walked away, guilt suffocating my lungs, forcing tears from my eyes. A lorry zoomed by. I wished I was standing in the middle of the road.
I am idiotic. I contradict.
I love yet I hurt.
I crave yet I deny.
I am happy but I am begging for misery.
I am fucked up, through and through.