; love me

Am I undeserving of being loved, or at least, liked for who I am?

Sometimes, I wonder whether there's a bold FUCK-ME engraved on my forehead, invisible only to my eyes.

Strike 3 in the very short span of a month.

The first was pure violation. Considered rape, minus penetration. Struggles and screams to no effect. The dark, primal side of a a man possesed by lust. An issue I never want to remember and bring up again. I still shiver and feel afraid when I think of what could have happened that fateful morning.

Chapter two was one with no strings attached. Interest on his side, and I'd admit, I was captivated, I was hooked with a major crush, only kept within and unknown to all. For he wasn't looking for love. He initiated, and I reciprocated, a precious moment that I would always remember and hold most dear to heart. No bitterness, no regrets. He was a shooting star, a spectacular moment of light in the heavens. The fleeting glimpse of eternity in his arms, would last me a lifetime. For details, you could check the Archives. Aug16, or 17 I think. (:

Part 3 was a confusing dilemma. The mind and the body, or rather heart were at hugeass conflict. One was flashing vivid Red danger signals, STOP before you crash and burn. The latter was smiling, it was most unexpected from the shy boy, and it urged to forget everyone, forget everything and savour the moment while it lasted. I was at a loss of how to react, so half the time I was protesting, the other half.. joining in?

Still.

The first apologised profusely, and I could sense his immense guilt. So much that he claimed responsibility with a "Why don't you be my girlfriend?" And the third, with an it's all up to you. Friends, fling, relationship? Ha. Yeah sure to both of them. Like I would find happiness by forcing relationships on you two because of your momentarily weaknesses to lust. If I ever enter a relationship again, it would be because of MUTUAL LOVE. Not because of your guilts. As if happiness would be possible that way.

In all 3 cases, the little tenderness in them, that all girls crave, was I think, probably imagined to soothe my wounded ego, and worst, bruised heart. I felt clearly the absence of affection. Only physical lust. Or perhaps the scent, that was mentioned by all three?

Those two reasons were sad excuses for gestures supposed to represent love, huh?

Don't try telling me love is overated. For the hopeless romantic, yours truly, it's an excruciating, heartbreaking tragedy.

And now I wonder, with tears I can't seem to hold back, is that all I am worthy of?