What's wrong with loving potatoes...

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“I can’t wait to fall in love. If I could, I would get married tomorrow.” 
I told him I didn’t believe in love. I think I heard a crack right after that. We didn’t end up together because he heard me say that I didn’t believe in love. He heard that I never wanted to fall in love. He heard that I didn’t believe in love. What he didn’t hear, though, were the barbed wires tightening around my heart making it bleed a little.
With sheets wrapped around me, I tucked my face into my pillow hoping it would swallow me whole. Alcohol was still coursing through my system as my head felt fuzzy. The room was dark apart from my light spilling out of my closet but things looked grainy. I hoped that I wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. He was done getting dressed and was hanging out by my side of the bed. I swear to god if he was hoping for a goodbye kiss I was going to punch him. He cleared his throat making me peep at him through my dark hair. 
“I’m so-” 
“Leave,” I stopped him before he could finish.
He nodded and closed the door behind him, “Goodnight.”
I woke up feeling like shit the next day. 

“You need to stop expecting relationships to last when they start with sex.” 
I agreed but I couldn’t implement it. I always believed that sex simplified things. But I also believe that sex complicates things. Yet I continue to make it an integral part of my life. Again and again. Watching the raindrops splatter on the ground as I stood underneath the lamppost I thought of him. Time had slowed down and I kept replaying the time I lay in bed with him over and over again. He’d pissed me off yet again. He was in love. But not with me. 
“Why are you turning away from me?” He all but moaned while pulling me closer and turning me around to face him. 
His fingertips felt like scathing hot metal as he traced my spine. My face on his shoulder. The same shoulder he told me he’d hurt before and was going to physical therapy for. I forgot about it. Realizing that I feel horrible now. 
He didn’t kiss my forehead. Thank god for that! I hated it when people did that to me. It showed that they cared. They don’t care. It’s meant to be a loving gesture. I told him that I didn’t believe in love. I lied. So, I lay here with my head hiding in the crook of his neck and my forehead tingling, almost begging, for his attention.

“I know it was always about sex with you.” 
He acted as if he knew me like the back of his hand. I didn’t think so. But then again, I acted as if I knew him like the front and the back of my hand. Deep down I always second-guessed myself. He thought I was ignoring him. That I didn’t feel it when he stared at me instead of working on his assignment. He thought I was mad at him when I focused all my attention on my friend. He thought I wasn’t interested when I hugged a guy we both knew passed by us in the hallway. I think I saw contempt in his eyes for me. Why did it bother him so much? Everyone else told me otherwise but I knew I was nothing but a fuck to him. It doesn’t bother him. It shouldn’t anyway. 
Arrogant. 
Bitch. 
She’s got a chip on her shoulder. 
Shameless.
Loud. 
Slut. 
Sex addict. 
He heard it all and he believed it. That didn’t hurt. It hurt that he couldn’t- wouldn’t- find it in himself to fall in love with me despite that. 





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