-I Still Love You-

Karasu 040107

I wonder if, when you sign in, you still look me up. Always, I wonder if you miss me. If you go to my profile just to check up on who's talking to me. Who's looking at my pictures. Who's delving into my personal life. Who loves me like you did.

I do it. I'll admit. I look through your pictures, secretly (and sometimes not-so secretly) hoping that some of the low-class whores that comment them would fall into an open sewer hole. I'll read every single comment twice just to make sure that you're suffering as much as I am. I hack into your account every once in a while to search through your messages. Sometimes-- occassionally-- I'll find the stray e-mail about me. What you wished would've happened. What you thought about me.

You loved me. You admitted it.

'i always wanted someone to love. he was perfect. he was everything i wanted. he was my poison. i let him past my lips and he took over.'

I loved you, too. Every day, every sentence was filled with you. Everything I liked about you. You were perfect to me. I loved the way that you seemed so confident in your own skin. The way your newly-dyed black hair hit your bright eyes in a way that made me want to bust out a boom box and dance to that horrid Britney Spears song about being your slave... or something (you would know it better than I would because you love Britney). The way that your hips would oh-so-casually rock as you talked to your friends. Your skin and sweat were beautiful (but that's so cliche that I'm afraid to use it), but your insides were lovely and pure, too.

You would call me up at three in the morning just to have me sneak out and come hold you while nightmares walked in front of your eyes. I loved the way that you would get defensive if people asked if we were dating. It just made you all the more human to me, where most people treated you as some untouchable god.

I hated what they made you out to be.

Because to me, you weren't just some "hot" boy who was there for aesthetic purposes. Or to boost their popularity.

You were human to me.

The only human in this vast wasteland we call Earth. My rock, my starting place.

My ending place.

Obviously, it meant nothing when you promised me the world; the sky; you. Because you took it all away from me. You stripped me of your love because I didn't want it anymore. Because I thought that people were getting too into our personal lives. I just wanted to cool it. But you wanted me. All of me. And I just wasn't ready to give you that, I guess.

Now I'm doing it again, checking thoroughly over your webpage to make sure that you're miserable. Because it makes me happy knowing that you're going through exactly what I went through. It's like when we were together. We're still going through the same things. Only now you don't have me as your crutch anymore. You have him.

It's probably the most egoistic thing you've ever heard, but I'm still way better looking. Your new fuck toy has a big nose. And his piercing is retarded. Who in the world would get their fernum in their lip pierced? It looks disgusting. I'm disgusted by it.

And I'm disgusted by the fact that your tongue touches it.

My piercing is way better.

And it didn't disgust me when your tongue touched it.

Because, let's face it, your tongue touched my lips more often than we were alone in a room somewhere (which tells you about our modesty). But now, you're with him. You have his initials outlined by hearts on your profile. There's a stupid little stick-figure drawing on his page that has your name and his name on it.

It makes me sick.

I just want to rip out that piercing. And his eyes. Those fucking gorgeous eyes that capture your heart and bind its wings so it can't possibly get back to me. Because I know that's what he's worried about. He's nervous that your heart will belong to me once again. Even though it won't. Ever.

I gave up on you a long time ago.

I gave up on a lot of things a long time ago.

I'm surprised. Utterly surprised. Shit my pants surprised.

I have a message from you. There's no subject in the subject line (of course... where else would it be?). My fingers hesitate to open it. What if you got one of those trackers that show who visits your profile (it's not like those things work anyway, but...) or what if you've noticed that someone's been signing in and reading your messages or what if your new boy toy noticed my eyes watching you every time I see you at the mall (which I often do)? What if you're fixing to tell me that you don't ever want to speak to me or look at me or think about me ever again?

But no... it's none of those.

It's a short, simple message. Not very many words. But, oh, it doesn't have to be long to get your message across. Four words. Four words is all it takes to make me fall in love with you all over again.

'i still love you.'