20. 11. 2015 - .

I am the wrong girl.
The one you will tell your girlfriends, and wives of,
to make them feel better about having loved or lusted after another.
“She was the wrong girl. And in a way I’m glad that I met her so I could see just how right you are.”

I am the wrong girl.
Fifteen. Doe eyed. Selfish. Spoilt.
You bring me my favourite things before school starts,
and spoil me endlessly with your love, and devotion and heart.
You love me. I can see it in your eyes.
I love you too.
We plan a life together.
We want to get married at eighteen, travel around Europe and have four kids.
But I am selfish, and young and I want to know what else the world has to offer besides the one of our own we created with all of our late night conversations, schoolyard kisses and heartfelt confessions.
So I leave my best friend behind at seventeen with a broken heart and wish you all the best.

I am the wrong girl.
Eighteen. Only just finding my feet in the world, but happy finally.
You are older, and kinder than me.
You are strong in the places I am weak.
You do everything right.
You treat me as though I am worthy; with flowers, and romantic dates and words that make my heart flutter.
You trace your fingers over the scars on my arms, and tell me I’m beautiful.
I see myself marrying you, and having children.
But just like everything else-
I’m too afraid of commitment.
I am selfish still.
In a moment of weakness I kiss another.
I realise that although I love you, I am not in love with you and I will never be able to look at you the same.
I know I’m in the wrong but,
I push away my guilt and cast you aside like you are nothing to me.

I am the wrong girl.
Nineteen. Happy. In love with life. I am at peace, and madly in love with God. Everything is changing. I am learning not to be so selfish anymore.
I’m not looking for anybody to fill the void, which is now non-existent.
And then I meet you, and I fall in love within a week.
Madly, deeply, completely.
My heart cries out, “this is the one”.
I forget to breathe when I am with you.
My heart beats too fast,
Or not at all.
I tell you my legs are ugly,
so you kiss each and every scar up and down them and make me feel lovely.
I am so in love with you in each and every moment.
But I am afraid.
I am afraid of commitment, and I am afraid to lose you.
I lose you anyway.
My heart aches more than it ever has before.
Every waking moment is painful.
I recall the friends I’d told, “finally I believe in love” and wonder what they think now.
I realise that besides my first love, you were the only other I had risked the heartache to actually making a commitment for.
I regret it.
My hands are left tainted with your touch,
“How can I ever hold another’s again?”

I am the wrong girl.
I am the one who broke your heart, or wasn’t good enough to stay in it at all.
I am the one who taught you lessons on what to look for in the right girl.
I am the one you will tell your wife someday, “I almost married the wrong girl.”
I don’t know if I will ever be the right girl.
And I don’t know if I want to find out.
Maybe, I will always be the wrong girl.

(artparasites.com)