Thursday, 2 November 2017

# bad boys # girlhood

when bad boys finish last


I looked into his eyes for the very first time that night and all he could tell me was maybe. That maybe we'd get high on a New York City rooftop in July, and become each other's undercover lover. That maybe we'd fly to Paris, and get higher than the Eiffel Tower. Maybe this or maybe that. Maybe Friday or Sunday, but baby just know that I'm all yours to take and you're all mine. Then I thought to myself that maybe I'm just crazy, and maybe he's just another fucking liar, and that maybe 'maybe' is not an answer. Maybe 'maybe' is certainty and doubt mixed together in an unsolvable equation. Maybe 'maybe' is being told that he could care less about you the day after. Maybe 'maybe' means that you're quick fix and another shot to take. Maybe 'maybe' means that you're a forgettable presence, and the undecided prize. Maybe he loves you, but maybe you'll never know.

It could be that maybe this is meant to be a long game of chasing and waiting, but maybe this time if you're not going to make up your fucking mind I'm going to have to do it for you. Maybe we're sick of leather jackets and cigarettes, the predictable excitement of your sociopathic ways. Maybe all I want to do is live fast without feeling like I'm babysitting a fucking serial killer. Look at me now, and tell me who's freer. Look at me now, and to tell me whose living it faster. Maybe I'm just young and I don't know what I want, but maybe that's okay, because maybe one day I will. I looked into his eyes for the very first time that night, and all I could think was that maybe bad boys finish last because they take away every inch of control I've had to fight for my whole entire life as damned little girl. 

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