I loved someone once—he was never nice.  
Always pointed out some “fault” of mine:  
my hair, my clothes, my skin.  
Me.  
But kindness from him? It came at a price.  
He mocked me, broke me—cruelty was his key.  

Yesterday, my heart forgot to beat.  
I saw him and I froze—  
not here, not again. Please, not again.  
He hit me hard, again and again,  
like pain that refused to leave.  
Why does he still affect me?  
I swore I moved on—  
but here I am, again.  

Seeing him felt like a car crash—  
one crash, and everything changed.  
Why did I crash?  
Why couldn’t I learn to drive first?  
The glass shards pierced my heart like knives.  
So tell me—why’d I fall for a boy  
who gave me the worst?  

Nobody knows.  
And neither do I.  
I lie awake at night thinking of the good—  
but by day,  
I spit anger at the weight of his lie.  
His ego?  
Taller than mountains,  
even when we were just kids.  

I want my story to be different.  

Someone loves me—and he’s quite nice.  
Always admires my hair, my clothes, my skin.  
Me.  
And cruelty?  
Never once directed toward me.  
He adores me,  
healed me—  
admiration was his key.  

But alas, one can only dream—  
dream of things being  
different.