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b4bypuff · 11 months

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Screen Love Story

As a child, I always wanted to watch Disney movies

Seeing the love stories on screen were always my favorite part of the day, recreating those same stories with barbies happened to become my favorite pass time, and as I got older, writing them became my daily objective after school let out

While different, they always were the same. In some which way, the girl always fell in love, and she was always saved by her lover.

But I soon learned that Disney, Barbie, and even my own writings lied.

I remember seeing things be thrown, hearing voices be raised, car engines starting in the dead of night, and the soft shutting of doors followed by muffled cries.

Still, I thought that the movies I loved couldn’t lie, there was still hope somewhere there.

So when I first met you, I thought I was finally watching it play out in real time. The first day we met, we walked around the track together, and I asked my friend if she knew your number, she said we would be good friends. We instantly clicked, I was even introduced to your then girlfriend, who I admit, I envied because she had you.

As the months went on you talked to me about the two of you, the bad parts, how she treated you. I gave you advice, I told you to get away before it got worse, but you didn’t listen until she broke it off. After a few months, at my birthday party, we kissed on a dare.

A spark lit up in you, you later told me, you admitted to me months later that the next morning you realized you liked me and were planning to ask me out.

So that day when you finally did, I remember how giddy I was, how the only thing I thought about the rest of the day were how your lips felt on mine. If we were following a Disney movie, we were well on the way to our happy ending.

I don’t quite remember now, but just like those movies an evil soon began to show itself.

It first started, I believe, when I noticed your eyes linger. Years later, I learned it was your ex you were staring at, but in that moment, all I knew was that it killed me.

But when I tried to play it off and hide my tears, you grabbed me, held my face when I kept trying to turn away, and made me look at you as I told you what was wrong. I don’t remember if I wanted to believe you, or if I truly had, but I remember the warmth that filled me when you apologized and promised me you only had feelings for me.

The problem was settled soon after when you waltzed into school the next day with a bouquet of red roses and a letter attached, I remember how you even made it apparent to my friends that you had bought them for me. In that moment, I felt so special.

The second crack in our story was the first fight we had. My memories can’t piece together what it was about, but the broken piece I still can clearly see and feel is the one in which you grabbed my wrist. I had to wear long sleeve for a week after, I flinched every time your hand reached for my own, I remember the look of regret in your eyes when you ran your thumb over the purple patch of skin.

It seemed slow at the time, like our love was slowly burning over the course of years, but it only took six months for the fire of rage you had inside you to consume us. In the moment, it felt like years, a rollercoaster we were both permanently strapped into.

As I am told, the term is disassociation, it’s the reason I don’t remember much other than the terribly good and terribly bad moments.

If you have trouble remembering too, the typical point in most romance films would be to show them in a montage.

For the good moments we have when you traveled during a hurricane to deliver me a stuffed animal because you “remembered how terrified I am of thunderstorms and, well, hurricanes are that by one hundred,” the letters you wrote me every month on the fourteenth, the second stuffed animal you gifted me because it made you think of me, the book you used as an excuse to drive to my house, the time we walked around your trailer park listening to a very cheesy playlist, the time we rode in a carriage downtown.

But the bad moments were just as significant, lucky for you and unluckily for me, I think of these less often than I do the good moments. I could bring up the second time you felt a bruise on my arm, or the countless times you caught me talking to someone else, someone you didn’t like, and left cuts in my arm because you held on so tightly your nails dug into my skin. I could mention the times you stared at me disgusted because the color I dyed my hair “looked ugly on me,” or the times I wore certain outfits and you’d remind me that “she (I was never sure which girl you spoke about in moments like these) would never wear something like that,” or perhaps you’d appreciate me telling about the times you threatened me. I still think your father is an EMT, I still wonder if you tell girls the same threats. The memories that are the most pieced together and that I often remember are the moments where you truly did hurt me, like the time you sprained my wrist, or the time you left me alone 4 hours away from home, or the time I learned how to conceal a bruise on my face.

What I still cannot forgive is the innocence you stole from me. The innocence of believing in love, believing in love as pure and sweet as in the movies I loved, or the barbie scenes I used to enjoy playing out. The child in me will never forgive you for teaching her that the stories I loved and wrote out would never come true, but the part of me that is all grown up will never forgive you for leaving behind pieces of you that I still find to this day.

I just wish I still believed in a love story like the ones on Disney.

#poetry #personal writing

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b4bypuff · 1 year

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Flower Garden

I have always loved flowers

They remind me of the times I had fallen in love,

sometimes they remind me of the days I fell in love with myself, gifting myself daisies, baby breath, or roses.

Other times they remind me of when someone fell in love with me, gifting me a bouquet of roses one random day, whispering to me the words of how she thought of me before school and spent her money on them just for me.

At times they remind me the world isn't cruel.

Not everyone steps on the pink primrose growing in the park

Not everyone hates the random daisies that grow in their yard

Some enjoy seeing the flowers, no matter if they are called a menace or bothersome

But there are times the flowers remind me too much of myself

Like how lilies remind me of the vile words said to me, only to have apologized with lilies and whispers of how she never meant the venom that leaked out of her mouth

Or how when my orchid blooms every year, she only has so many days until her beauty has faded. I wonder every time she sprouts if she knows, others and I will only find her beautiful for a limited amount of time, and once her beauty has faded, I'll pluck her flower and watch as she becomes just a pile of leaves.

I wonder if she knows I will feel guilt when she grows a new sprout and begins to birth another flower, for once not giving a second thought to her beauty, even when it has dwindled and morphed into a new kind of beauty.

I wonder if she knows I have always loved flowers.

#poetry #poem

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