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Mistakes

Thoughts of a broken innocent.

By anxious snackPublished 7 years ago 5 min read
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I could tell you the exact curvature of his lips. The way he tasted. The way he kissed me with such gentle pressure. The way his hands wandered my body, discovering every inch. He knew me better than anyone else, both emotionally and physically.

I could tell you how he made me feel. Even now, every moment, every glance, every touch, is imprisoned in my mind. I can't escape him.

We go in circles and circles.

It's a toxic ring of beauty and disaster. Something that I’ve obsessed over since the very first day he placed his lips on mine. I was innocent then, and hopeful. But I was also sad. And somehow he managed to capture me as I captured the very essence of youth:

Long drives. His pick-up truck. Red lips. Summer. Faint perfume. Kisses. Blonde hair. Sneaking him over. Running wild. Frisbee golf. Best friends. Swimming in ponds. Music. Adventures. Love songs. The four of us.

And the essence of my youth:

Sex. Fighting. Sadness. Fear. Broken hearts. Fixing hearts. Loving someone else. Rebounds. Country music. Sad music. Cheating. Falling together. Going out to dinner. Sex. Emotional abuse. Laughing. Hospital. Love. Lunch dates. Prom night. Pregnancy scares. Pain. Sex. Him.

And later:

Break-ups. Rebounds. Sex. Drugs. Alcohol. Running away. Cliff jumping. Driving anywhere. Laughing. Wishing for death. Crying. Ruining parties. Bleeding. Wishing. Dreaming. Daydreaming. Losing reality. Screaming inside. Friends. Alone.

And I suppose you can see now why I’ve gotten myself so caught up in him. Why I’ve gotten myself so caught up in the innocence I lost. I could explain to you that him and I were quite alike, in many ways. I could tell you we both loved the same restaurants, but had slightly different tastes in food, but that was okay because he ate the food off my plate that I didn't like. I could brag about the way he loved me, even if he didn't love me right. I could reminisce out loud about every single moment that he ever looked into my eyes with his, bright and blue and beautiful. But I relive everything every day.

So I’ll tell you the little things that I have never told anyone before.

I liked when he drove me home and I feel asleep in the truck. I liked when we slept and he unconsciously put his arm around me. I liked the way he laughed. I liked the way his voice sounded a little southern when he told a story. I liked when he looked at me and smiled. I liked the way he smiled at me when he got turned on. I liked the stubble on his chin. I liked his shoulders. I liked when he sang in the car. I liked playing video games together. I liked when we watched the superbowl, and his favorite team won. I like when we sat on the floor and ate dinner. I liked his heavy blankets. I liked helping him clean his room while he mowed the lawn. I liked his sexual innuendos. I liked the time we blew spitballs at each other at Deb’s Diner.

I liked prom night, even though he was mad at me. I liked the fights. I liked the excitement. I liked learning more about cars. I liked watching and playing Star Wars. I liked seeing the opening screening of Fifty Shades of Grey in the theatre in town and feeling each other up. I liked how he picked me up for school every day. I liked when we occasionally wore matching outfits. I liked it when he held my hand.

I liked his family. I liked his house. I liked getting it on when his parents were just in the other room. I liked the way he kissed my neck. I liked how warm he was when we laid together in his bed playing Pokemon. I liked working on his truck. I liked going bowfishing.

I liked kissing him after his graduation. I liked kissing him when the clock struck midnight on New Year’s. I liked when he cried for me. I liked when we went to the beach, the first time and the second. I liked when he put on rap. I liked when he got me to dance at the girls-ask-guys dance. I liked taking pictures in the photobooth.

I liked going to his fancy military dinner. I liked his family's parties. I liked when his step-dad taught me how to shoot a bb gun. I liked when they helped me when my dad kicked me out of the house. I liked how his aunt always asked if I was there when she came over. I liked how she called me Crash due to me unlucky past driving cars.

I liked taco night at their house. I liked going out to dinner for his brother’s birthday. I liked meeting his piece of shit dad and his nasty boob job’d wife. I liked going to see his grandmother in Palmyra.

I liked seeing his other grandma that lived with him. I liked writing him songs. I liked wearing our matching necklaces. I liked wearing the necklace he got me. I liked happy-crying that snowy Christmas night when he gave it to me.

I liked acting like a married couple. I liked when I thought I was pregnant. I also liked when the test came out negative. I liked when we were fighting and he found me in the hallway and ran to me and kissed me. I liked when he bought me chai. I liked watching the fireworks. I liked going to the zoo. I liked becoming each other’s best friends. I liked planning our life together. I liked talking about our future.

And I could go on and on and on, but what is most important is: I loved him.

I loved him.

Through all the bullshit. Through the fighting and the pain and the breaking up and making up, I loved him. And we were in love.

And I still love him.

I love him.

I love him.

I love him.

And I used to think that love isn't always enough. But I’m starting to think that I was wrong. Maybe for us, love is enough. And maybe, eventually, I’ll find that out for sure.

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About the Creator

anxious snack

I see the world in words.

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