you gave me some cheap makeup for valentine's day and i didn't even try to hide the disappointment puckered my face.

i turned to you and said softly, "makeup is for insecure girls."

you merely sighed, with your glassy, distant eyes, and said "i know."

you always loved to take me to the beach right before sunset, and you'd always pick out a pretty shell and name it after me.

one time, we got in a fight and you yelled at me i was like a seashell because i was sometimes pretty, but mostly i was cold and empty.

i screamed back that you're just like sand because, in the light of the sunset, you're beautiful, but mostly you're just abrasive and insubstantial.

once you told me that i was like a lowercase letter, small and unassuming, and once you told me that i was something like broken english, like fractured sentences, and like every language smashed into one disjointed and confused mess of words and voice fluctuations.

i merely replied that you were like the sun, and you told me that it was too cliché, so i compared you to an electricity socket, because you seem so plain and harmless on the outside but really you're full of white-hot electricity that zaps away anyone that tries to get close to you.

you said that i was a beautiful monster, yet a hideous princess.

"will you be my prince?" i asked shyly, playing with your cinnamon-and-honey hair.

"i wouldn't know whether to save you or slay you." you laughed, blowing strands of your bangs out of your eyes and blowing my confidence to smithereens.