For months, I denied you—not that you were ever, really, mine to deny—whole-heartedly. For months, I believed the lies I told myself. I convinced myself I was honestly through with you—not that you were ever, really, mine to be through with—for good.

In an instant, you tore through those lies. It took you less than a second to send a chill up my spine and a knot to my throat. With one word, the tidal wave I'd held back for months, crashed through the levies I'd made to protect myself.

Yeah, that's called a metaphor; maybe you shouldn't have been so focused on Newton's Third Law of Motion. Then again, I think you'd better stick to things that you can prove scientifically. You don't seem to do so well in the "not backed up by science" department.

Then again, I don't do so well in that department either. Hell, look at me—not that you would if you had the chance—I'm a mess. It's everything I have to keep me from screaming this out loud.

I was surprised you never took notice. I watched you constantly; trying to find something a little off. I never succeeded in finding that.

I would call your smile breathtaking—but it's not. I would call your eyes beautiful—but they're not. I would call you my friend—but you're not.

I doubt you'll pay attention to this paper—not that you would ever think of reading it—since nothing I'm saying can be backed up by proven facts. Not in a million years would I even let you get close this paper. Or this heart, for that matter.

"This heart" of course being the one that somehow finds a way to beat inside my chest. Don't worry about me—not that you would ever worry—or about any of this. I'm a strong girl who was taught to deal with heartbreak.

Of course, it's not your fault, dear. I didn't fall in love with you. I fell in love to you.

No, I didn't worship the ground you walked on. But, in order for love to be with someone, it needs to be returned. My love wasn't a boomerang this time around.

There's another metaphor for you—not that you would ever listen to what I say—or did you forget what a metaphor was, already? Google the definition. Maybe you could even look up an example.

Oh, you were too busy studying the human anatomy? Tell me: Does it come with an instruction manual? I could really use one to fix this broken heart…

Oh, you took the last one? I understand, love. You need to learn how the female body works in order to be ready for that new baby of yours.

I'm not supposed to know? Shit… I guess that's what happens when you enter the room smiling ear to ear after just talking to her on the phone.

Oh, my God. I didn't know her water broke too early. Nor did I know my heart would be broke too early.

Not that you could care—not that you should care—not that you did care.


A/N: So, this is definately the twinsie of Can You Get Used to That? 'cause they're both my babies. They're written about two different people with completely different tones. I love 'em both. But, this my favourite piece I've written. Ever.
Review it and tell me what you liked about it.
If you didn't, still review, telling me what you didn't like about it.
Much, thanks.

-MGS-