Diary of a Dying Girl (Pt. 1)

The Boy That Is Back in Town

I don't know why you're back in town. I'm definitely not sad about it even though I know I'll never see you. It's weird, crushing out and feeling guilty because I practically beg the fates to make all of my dreams about you.

I wake up shaky, excited, and defeated all at once because I know that what I want is unrealistic—pretty much childish.

I shut my eyes as tight as I can get them and try to picture your arms around me—how good it would feel to have you just for a second. But you are a decisive man with a specific type, and even though I find your strong will sexy, I still get a little pouty about it. I will never meet any of your qualifications, and it sucks because everything about me that you don't want are things that I can never change.

When you left, you were smoking more than you were eating and it showed. You looked like cracked porcelain, breaking, but not enough for the rest of you to fall apart completely.

You were drunk all day and all night and you spent a copious amount of hours ranting about a dream. One that you had no intentions working towards, you just wanted it to magically happen.

You were confused, hopelessly lost, and painfully beautiful. But that's all you were. You could never be more to me. I knew that you were a ways away from ever finding peace and that disruption could destroy us both. But when you left, going home rather than running wild, you finally found exactly what you needed, but the last thing you were looking for.

And now, as your strength grows and your soul brightens, I want nothing more than to touch every inch of your skin. And most people would think that I mean that sexually, but my addiction to humans will never be that cliche.

I want to know you as if I made you. Every twist and curve of you. I want to look into your eyes and sense your feelings changing. I want to see the storm building from irritation to anger. I want to see you go from content to outright joyful. I want to know what it's like to make you feel loved.

I wish I had a chance. But most guys aren't going to want to know the dying girl. Everyone is afflicted with my terminal condition, but I guess I am the only one that has it painted all over my face.

Want Me. The two words I'd scream at you if I could. What's odd is I would do anything to have you look at me and actually like what you see. If I had rounder edges or slimmer corners. A more elegant frame, a more beautiful face. I'd be anything you wished. Having you is a dying girl's dream.

I'm not sure what brought you back to town, or how long you'll stay. But hopefully, your lofty friends remain as dependent as they have been on social media since your arrival. I hope they keep posting, it's the only way I'm going to get to see you.

We've talked about the bigger things in life before—who made the stars and if that same Being has the time to love us; to see us through this life long after we were made. I know that you believe what I believe and it only makes us stronger. I wish that belief drew us closer. Because I want nothing more than to be close to you.

I know that I'll never get the chance to fall in love with you, but with that said, I do hope I have the privilege of knowing you.

I don't know why you're back in town, but feel free to stay as long as you like.