I don't know why I've been lying to myself these past few days, these past few blogs. The more I try not to think of you, the suppressed memories of which I want to disappear, slyly make their way through my unfiltered mind and remind me of what you and I could've been - more than acquaintances, less than lovers but somewhere along the lines of being friends who like each other.
But that didn't happen.
None of those uncompromised thoughts occurred.
Foolishly, I thought you would be' the' guy who would finally prove my perspectives on men to be wrong, to validate and ensure me that my rather irrational prejudice towards men in my age group to be inconclusive, insubstantial and it was somewhat of a surprise that you did(initially). I fell for your charms, your talkative manner, your exuberant personality and in all honesty, I was absolutely enchanted by you. You made me feel things I haven't felt in a very long time - my knees went easily weak, my stomach wouldn't stop having those goddamn butterflies flying about maniacally, my face would easily blush at the sight your smile and my thoughts would always be incoherent everytime I heard your name.
It was like being under your spell but instead
of not wanting to give in, I basked in your adoration and wanted more.
You were my drug and I was addicted to you. Even when I knew the situation and the circumstances that I was going to put myself in were fucked from a million to one, I ended up hurting myself from my lack of unsupervised actions. Yet, I still asked the same old question time and time again as if the present would outshine the past and put a light at the end of the tunnel, somewhat resembling my unforeseen future but it always ended up being a dull, bleak passageway towards a deep, darkening black hole.
And at each turn I took along that passageway,
my mind repeatedly whispers the question
I do not wish to answer;
'Why did he choose to love her instead of me?'
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