tell me, is that really a crime?

the first boy

i fell in love with

was a writer.

he wrote me love letters,

won me over with metaphors

and mind paint.

i was young

and more in love

with the idea of love

than anything,

but he was the first one

to light a fire in me.

he was also the first one

to put it out.

the first time we kissed

was on saint patrick’s day;

i wanted to think that made

us lucky.

—i was wrong

she was the one you liked

first.

but she was unattainable,

so you picked me.

and i knew this,

but i loved you,

so i buried it in the back of my mind

and didn’t think about the fact

that i may have been a second choice.

i didn’t think about it

until all of a sudden

she was attainable,

and despite having me,

you picked her.

you fucking picked

her.

—i guess i should’ve seen it coming

you said i want you to stick this out like this was a blip in the system and not you confessing your love for another girl,

like this wasn’t one of the worst possible things you could do to somebody,

like this was simple, like it was fucking easy, like it was as solvable as algebra,

like saying i think i’m falling in love with her to your damn girlfriend was something you could just take back.

but you didn’t take it back, you said i want you to stick this out, you said i want you to stay, you said please don’t go yet,

and somewhere deep inside of me, the woman i am now stood up and told me to say no.

no i will not stay,

no i will not wait around with bated breath while you figure out which one of us you like more,

no i will not stick this out, because you saw this coming and did nothing to stop it.

i’m leaving.

i’m fucking leaving.

it’s going to tear me apart

but dammit,

i’m leaving.

that first night, i tried so hard to be positive, changed my instagram bio to “single pringle!”; laughed with my mom about the things you did that annoyed me; talked to my best friends and told them i was fine, that i knew all good things couldn’t last, that it was okay, we were going to different high schools anyway, it was gonna go down at some point; pushed the pain down as far as it could go, but eventually, it broke through anyway, because she was texting me, telling me how upset she was about it, how she never wanted this to happen—i just wanted to be his friend—because i was slowly putting it all together—he liked her first he fucking liked her first—because you were texting me, apologizing and apologizing and begging for another chance—

and it was like, all the laughter and the jokes didn’t matter.

at the end of the day, everything was still broken.