I Am.
By verdant.
I am part quirky red head, I am part melancholy poet, I am part understanding friend, I am part loyal lover but I am also part
Broken hearted girl.
I know he still loves me, I just know it with every fiber of my puny existence--unless I am wrong.
Unless I have only made myself believe that this boy knew what this word, love was, or if he ever bothered asking.
You see, there are countless boys out there that I could choose to describe love with, but this one is the one I have blindly chosen. That is what I also am. Blind. Utterly blind, as I grope in darkness. But no one helps me around. No one.
I thought I could control myself because I am me and not you, nor her, nor anyone else.
But I can't control this.
Tell me I don't love him at all, and I'll tell you that I don't. But if you could read minds, you'd disappointedly find shattered pieces of my heart, still trying to mend itself back together.
You'll find that I still do love him.
You won't find the reasons why.
And unless you've been in love like me; unless you've received expensive Christmas presents with the price tags still placed on them, unless you've received mind blowing kisses from a blonde-haired, gray-eyed enigma, unless you've given your love hand-knitted scarves of Gryffindor scarlet and gold, and unless you've felt the betrayal of being robbed of a thing you thought of as truth—
I suppose you'll never know
What I really am.