Oh baby girl,– Halsey, Young God
Don’t get caught
On my edges,
I’m the king
My tongue is a weapon.
I remember the moment you first looked at me and I remember the moment your eyes met mine for the last time. From curiosity to apathy, we travelled a long distance. You were my ‘fantasy’. My version of dancing with the fire. You made my heart lift and lit it on fire. You made it dance but you were also the reason it drowned.
And I couldn’t help but indulge in you.
I still remember the day I first met you. In a white shirt and blue jeans, you looked like innocence personified, until you put your leather jacket on. You were just the right kind of dangerous. I’ll define you as sweet but spicy. You came up to me, smiled that crooked smile of yours, and said “hey”. I never knew a small monosyllable word could have that effect on me. Your voice was gruff, deep and full of melancholy. Your eyes were deep brown like black holes and I got lost in them.
You made me want to lose myself and be you instead. And thus started our secret rendezvous. No one knew about us. Our passion was the forbidden fruit of our desire, and maybe that’s what made it more compelling.
On our first date, you took me to the planetarium. You booked the hall, turned on the projector and we had dinner under the stars. We snuck into the community pool, way past midnight, high on life.
That was the day you told me that you don’t “love”. You told me that you liked to play with hearts. But I was too lost in the excitement, in the pleasure you provided me, to care about anything. I didn’t care. I wanted you as you were. I believed that you will change for me. Books, movies and songs had me believing that people like you could change.
We were fire together. But we burnt through everything. Leaving us with a dark hole, leaving us in the ashes of who we used to be.
I remember the fights. I remember the passion. I remember how we broke things off. How you left me in the middle of nowhere. And I remember how I trashed your cars afterwards.
We went out like a firecracker. Beautifully but quickly.
In the end, you held true to your words.
You don’t love, you play.