Him.

You were handsome and intriguing. There was a level of mystery behind those deep coloured eyes of yours. I fell for those, but they hid away your racing mind and covered up your panic. Your lips both soft and strong, something I needed. But they spilled sweet nothings one minute and words that cut the air in half the next. Your strong arms and broad shoulders, a place that let me feel protected and safe when you held me. A hand that fit in mine with ease, but those same hands soon pushed mine away.

What were you afraid of? Afraid of falling for the girl you knew you felt connected to? I know you felt it too. Or was it the way I got you? I understood who you were. Those deep dark secrets you thought you held, didn’t scare me like you thought they would. Maybe it was mine that you couldn’t accept. Or was it the way I challenged you? To be better for both yourself and for me. Or maybe just maybe, it was the way that I saw past your walls and saw you. The true you. The authentic and vulnerable you.

You can’t tell me you don’t remember the endless conversations about art and Banksy, under the soft light of a candle burning on your desk. The electric feeling between us when you pulled me in by my waist and said: “Come here”. The temptation and the desire that fueled us with that 0-100 feeling we couldn’t ignore. Your hands in my hair when you kissed me during those nights, when we just couldn’t get enough of each other. Let’s not forget the safe space we created in the silence of just being together.

But we ended, when we had barely just begun. Now I wonder, do you create that feeling for her? does she talk Banksy and Broomball like I did? Does she make you feel wanted and desired like I did? Or does she bore you? because sparks are rare to come by and boy did we have a spark. Is she everything you refused to let me be?

I liked him. I had him. I lost him.