The girl who loved me had long blond hair and blue eyes. She always wore a red hoodie and thick rimmed glasses, and she smelled like her homemade hot chocolate. We talked around town holding hands, hiding behind buildings if she saw someone she knew because her dad would **** her if he found out she was dating a girl. She wrote me a letter once saying she wanted to be my superman, but her father was the kryptonite. So when the sky filled with fireworks to mark the new year, she left me in the snow with nothing to warm my heart except homemade hot chocolate.
The girl who loved me dyed her hair deep red and had eyes the color of a swimming pool. She had too many cats and smelled like the beginning of autumn. I fell in love faster than the speed of light, without a doubt in my mind that she was the one. She captured my every thought. We waltzed in snow and knew each other’s minds better than our own. She was my first for every event and my first for every choice. I thought we would last forever, but I was young and foolish to think so because I was and always will be her second choice.
The girl who loved me was always trying to grow her hair out, only to cut it short time and time again. She let me go so I could get better because I was the worst I've ever been. Sometimes, I wish she wouldn't have because she knows how to lead sunlight to the Earth. I regret never holding her in my arms and telling her it’s okay to breath.
The girl who loved me never felt the same way I did about her. Her hair landed in uncontrollable curls and she laughed too hard. Everything about her was drawn to the extreme, from her hair to her laugh to her depression. We had one night together filled with laughing and dancing before she gave up on trying, before she decided she was too sad to be with me. She left me alone with my own mental filth to rot with my demons. She left me when I needed her the most. She said she cared, but she never cared enough.
The girl who loved me can’t look herself in the mirror anymore. For four people, she wasn't enough. She let herself rot on the inside and now all that’s left is a broken smile and a pretty face. She dreams of the day that she can love someone properly and have them love her back. She wonders when the last time she thought she was a good person was. She’s marked by the scars that show she survived but she hates the doctor who let her live. I don’t think she ever truly loved me to begin with.