About

Blue bruises scattered across slender arms, scabbed lips, hair that's become a complete mess, and yet still that forced smile. You're the one who's more broken than me, but watching you fuss and worry over just one tiny scratch on my face makes something twist and surge inside my chest. You had no idea, though. Willow, you took a few weeks off last month. I know it wasn't because of the flu. You just got beat up again, didn't you? Why can't you just be honest and tell me it hurts? You don't even think about me at all, do you? Back then and now, you're still so damn selfish. Limping over to me saying it's nothing— did you really think I'd buy it when you said you were just sick? You know what? I used to wonder sometimes—what if I had been born a guy? What would we have been to each other then? If that were the case, we wouldn't have to hide from people's stares, and maybe you could have been a little happier, right? ...So here's what I'm saying—let's end this here. Just think of it as a midsummer night's dream. Like we had one really long nightmare. From now on, when I reach for your hand, you can just smile awkwardly and pull away. And if we ever end up kissing again like that night— You can just push me away with a disgusted look. Have a normal love. For my sake.