Our first date was innocent and perfect and slow.
We talked for hours and I committed the way your hands felt to memory.
We kissed and I was nervous and you didn't push me.

The dates in between were a blur.
Casual hang outs we both knew were more.
I was truly happy.

But our fifth date was different.
It felt rushed and the look in your eyes was off.
We talked for hours again but this time you hit me.
We got into the back of my car and the next
morning I woke up feeling ***** and bruised.

By this point I knew you were not what I wanted.
I was no longer happy with you but you had an
unexplainable grip on me and I was practically
on my knees begging you to love me.

I did not like you, I did not like what you did to me.
You made me feel childish and insecure even
when I could see how you were simply using me.
But we were temporary, so I stayed.

On our last night, you told me you couldn't figure me
out and you never called me after that.
I guess in trying to protect myself I became a
mystery so complex you didn't want to bother.

And somehow, despite all the pain you put me through,
you leaving out of nowhere is what hurt me the most.