I have a memory of a girl who would bend any which way i desired. I hurt her. Another who could make me feel like the most important person on earth, who could hold me so nothing could hurt, who, despite everything in her mind and in her world, would always find time for me. For that, i cheated on her. Another, who gave to me only companionship, promise, and an undying shoulder to cry on. I... i don't remember. Cue tears.

'another': the boy who can cause so much hurt, yet feel so little.

I do not enjoy being self-involved, i never wanted to become anything close to what i am now. I do not wish to be forcably dominant, yet that seems to be how i always play.

I recall another girl, but she was lost... and now all i have is a heart stamped and returned, and memories that serve injustice.

And a final one. For her, i tried everything i could possibly think of to be absolutely perfect. I poured myself out in any way i knew how; most prominant were my waves of hand-crafted cards, letters and heart-shaped messages of love and devotion. At first i struggled though: my first real relationship was entirely sex-based, since that was all my partner knew; i believe that forced sex into my idea of a relationship, where it would never had existed there before. This idea stayed throughout the years that have passed until this moment, and have had a quite noticable effect on my relationships. Sex felt mandatory.

And with the girl who came before this most recent one of whom i speak, the idea of sex as such an important part of a relationship -- even existing as the basis of one -- was mutual. However, after hurdling over the boundry of that first fuck (and after the sex felt less ~necessary~ and more ~enjoyable~), after boughts of depression and internal consultation, i began to develop into the (perhaps agressively?) romantic fool i breifly described above.

Trouble was, i didn't really know for sure why i was with this girl. She was not particularly attractive either mentally nor physically, held nothing of any value to me, and offered me... well, to be perfectly honest, absolutely nothing. She was spoilt. And i only spoiled her more. For her, it would have been completely unnecessary to requite what i tried to offer. This, coupled with a mixture of home troubles, a desperate fight against depression, and a severely fucked up school life, hurt me in the long term, although i doubt i conciously realised it at the time.

So, i gradually withdrew into myself, blocking out everybody, inclusive of her. I blamed her for various things; i cannot remember if i was right to place said blame, or if she was more than deserving, and probed and aggravated more than what i could ever blame for. I doubt she was ever guilty of anything more than needing the stability of a relationship, and the comfort offered by a partner.

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They were sitting quietly in the boy's front room, watching peacefully a random movie to pass the time between school hours. The girl, happy in her mind but far too sleepy to view the movie, stroked her distant lover. The boy, however, was in another time and place altogether, and was struggling to keep bearing with the relaxed situation. The girl continued to stroke, as an old mother of a far-gone brain damaged child, or a soon-to-be widow, to her dying husband. Her fingers caressed his cold and pale skin by the silvery glow of the screen, sliding further up his arm; brushing away the threads of an old t-shirt as she reached the rim of the garment, and finding these threads to be fastened to his skin, and not in fact threads but scabs of sliced flesh that only represented further this demented asshole's reclusive state of being. You shit, you sick fucking shit. The tears rolled down as though his flesh was hers, yet the boy sat silently and seemingly oblivously. Inside, though, he coul

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i am ashamed.