My man. Wow.
And they play with you, too. She told me she liked me. She hugged me, had her arms around me, danced with me, and on and on. The next day she’s a different person, and I’m a distant friend. I’m head over heels, I’ve given her my necklace, I can’t see it. But she knows. She knows deep down that it was just a fun evening, and she didn’t mean for it to last. But you tell a guy you like them, and put your head on their chest when you’re sitting next to each other on a couch, and she owns his soul. He’d beat anyone up, do anything she asked, go to Hell and back if she wanted the Devil’s head on a platter. So she distances herself, leaves him on read, even when he pours his heart out. And there’s nowhere to go, no way to heal. Time just has to ice his heart from the inside out, until he’s a cold giant that can’t feel. People tell me I spend too much time on my hair, and I tell them I’m trying to look like Edward Cullen. Because I’m cold. Deathly cold. And waiting. A thousand years it seems.