I Wrote About You

 

I wrote a story

It was about a boy from the Sun and a girl from Mars

He was built by a loving family, was made of charm and character, he was yellow

She survived off paper and a pencil, scavenging through her broken family for a story, gray

 

I wrote about you

I wrote about a boy with a heart as big as her ego

She was popular, intimidating, not to be messed with

He was shy and quiet, the one you bring home to your parents

 

I wrote about us

I wrote about the day they had met, sentences were spoken so fluently and so often

She had complained about her numbness on the ski lift, as he began to speak beautiful French

How could two people built from different planets talk so peacefully and so normal?

 

I wrote about our story

I wrote about the weeks following the first encounter

They soon became inseparable, best friends, none the less

He had poked and prodded her, made her a clay tiger she kept preserved in her room a year later

She had given him shoes, he kindly rejected, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, stubborn

He had never known she had spent all of her money on those shoes

 

I wrote about my problems

I wrote about her twisted mind and torn heart, she never understood what happiness really meant

Her self worth was a buck twenty five, while the boy from the Sun was meer a million

She had never known what it felt like to be cared for and to be loved

He got a call late at night, “it’s been another bad day,” she explained

He had never known she about to pull the final trigger, seconds later

 

I wrote about the guilt

I wrote about him snapping her back into shape, he said he cared

He explained things would be okay as long as he was there

“No,” she thought, “what a monster I am for letting a happy boy care for me!

I have no self worth and therefore don’t deserve you or anything you want to give me”

Today that seems ridiculous, what was she thinking?

Was she really driving the best thing that ever happened to her away? So easily? So effortlessly?

“Please leave me alone,” she had said, and eventually, he did.

 

I wrote about how lost I am

I wrote about her tormenting herself

She was her own reason for breaking everything she comes close to

She would stay up until 2 a.m. wondering how his day was, how his family is

“No,” I remembered her thinking, “you drove him away, you did this to yourself”

She had never known what it meant to be loved and cared for until it was gone

 

I wrote about a broken girl and a beaming boy

I wrote about her crooked smile

The smile only he brought out in her

Everything he ever did shone like the rest of him, he was filled with light and laughter, happiness

She was gray, incapable of feeling black nor white

He brought out the yellow in her, the Sun in her, picked up her pieces and made her whole again

She had never known what yellow had felt like until she had met him

And now it’s gone, and she broke herself once more

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