I Used to Be Beautiful
I Used To Be Beautiful
There was a girl with tears in her eyes.
And she lay on her stomach in her bedroom, and she felt the wet pools beneath her face as they grew, and she cried.
He was gone. He was leaving. And no matter how hard she ever tried to keep things whole and working and right again, she would always end up with her heart broken.
The first boy was a redhead with bright blue eyes. Oh, how she’d loved him, how she’d loved him more than life itself. And she was so young. So young. Too young to be in love, too young to die. But she did it, and she did it all on her own. The boy didn’t want her. Maybe he did once, but that was a different time, that was before she had let herself fall in love with him. He didn’t want her and very soon he would be gone forever and perhaps she would never see him again and maybe that was for the best.
She got over it. She wiped her eyes, and things would get better, as she kept telling herself.
But she was so unhappy. She didn’t feel alive, she didn’t feel anything at all except exhaustion. She didn’t love the red-haired boy anymore, or at least, she didn’t think about him every day, didn’t hear his laugh in her ears, didn’t see his face in her mind, didn’t see those pale blue eyes or that goddamned smile that drove her so fucking crazy.
The second boy had dark hair and green eyes. She loved him too, but only as a brother. And he couldn’t seem to grasp that, couldn’t seem to believe her when she told him the truth, didn’t seem to care when she told him she was sorry. He left her. Abandoned her. And he was her last link to the red-haired, blue-eyed boy that she had fallen in love with. Gone. Both of them were gone.
She didn’t want it to be her fault. It wasn’t her fault, she said. But then, it was.
The third boy had big, beautiful blue-green eyes and brown hair and was not always a boy. She loved him desperately, loved him even when he was a she, loved him more than she ever knew she could love somebody. They were connected, somehow, and she could not contain herself. She knew what had happened, she knew and she did nothing, said nothing, told no one. She didn’t want to betray her friend’s trust. But maybe it was worth it, to save a life, maybe she should’ve told, maybe she should’ve done something…
And then the fourth boy came along, with dark brown hair and small, dark brown eyes. He had gotten through to her when no one else could, he managed to calm her down, assure her that it was not her fault, none of it was. Somehow he had saved her, and she couldn’t make him see, and he turned his back on her, ignored her, never cared for her as she so hoped he would. She loved him, and of that she was sure, but she didn’t know if it was the same kind of love that she had felt for that first boy, with his flaming red hair and his bright blue eyes and that goddamned smile.
The third boy made it. The third boy survived. And she could breathe again, she could smile, she could live as long as he was. And she can always see his pain, and the dead in his eyes, but she knows now, or at least she hopes, that he is here to stay. He won’t leave her again. He couldn’t. No. He just couldn’t.
And then there was the fifth boy, who had always been there, always watching out for her with those small, twinkling blue eyes that matched her own exactly. He betrayed her. He betrayed her and he betrayed everyone that was closest to her and he was not there for her when she needed him the most and he abandoned her just like all the others had. And she knew she loved him, of course she loved him, but she didn’t know why or how or if maybe she only loved him because she was supposed to.
And that left her crying on the bed again, as all the others had.
Everyone had left her, and somehow, somehow it was all her fault, each and every one of them.
When the sixth boy came along, it was her turn to leave. And she knew already how much it hurt to have a broken heart. What she didn’t realize was how much it hurt to break one, too. She didn’t love him. She never loved him. Maybe she did. She didn’t know. But she wanted him gone, she wanted all of it gone, she wanted her life the way it was before he came along, before any of them came along, when she was happy, or sort of happy. She didn’t want it to hurt anymore. She wanted her heart to be clean, and pure, and free from scars, and that was all.
But then, would she ever be whole? Would she ever be alive again?
And here she is again, lying on her stomach with her face in her pillow, with wet dripping all down her face, calling herself stupid and wondering how on earth she had gotten so ugly. She had hurt a boy in the same way that she had been hurt, five times in a row, and she had hurt a boy in the same way that she had promised herself that she would never hurt anyone. And that made her ugly.
But then again, she is also hurt, and she is broken, and she longs for everything she used to have, everything she used to be before she lost herself completely, and she thinks to herself only one thing, the single thought that has been circling her mind for three whole years, starting with that first blue-eyed boy.
I used to be a beautiful girl.
And she lies on her stomach in her bedroom, and she feels the wet pools beneath her face as they grow, and she cries.
Here is a girl with tears in her eyes. She used to be beautiful, too.
THE END.
And she lay on her stomach in her bedroom, and she felt the wet pools beneath her face as they grew, and she cried.
He was gone. He was leaving. And no matter how hard she ever tried to keep things whole and working and right again, she would always end up with her heart broken.
The first boy was a redhead with bright blue eyes. Oh, how she’d loved him, how she’d loved him more than life itself. And she was so young. So young. Too young to be in love, too young to die. But she did it, and she did it all on her own. The boy didn’t want her. Maybe he did once, but that was a different time, that was before she had let herself fall in love with him. He didn’t want her and very soon he would be gone forever and perhaps she would never see him again and maybe that was for the best.
She got over it. She wiped her eyes, and things would get better, as she kept telling herself.
But she was so unhappy. She didn’t feel alive, she didn’t feel anything at all except exhaustion. She didn’t love the red-haired boy anymore, or at least, she didn’t think about him every day, didn’t hear his laugh in her ears, didn’t see his face in her mind, didn’t see those pale blue eyes or that goddamned smile that drove her so fucking crazy.
The second boy had dark hair and green eyes. She loved him too, but only as a brother. And he couldn’t seem to grasp that, couldn’t seem to believe her when she told him the truth, didn’t seem to care when she told him she was sorry. He left her. Abandoned her. And he was her last link to the red-haired, blue-eyed boy that she had fallen in love with. Gone. Both of them were gone.
She didn’t want it to be her fault. It wasn’t her fault, she said. But then, it was.
The third boy had big, beautiful blue-green eyes and brown hair and was not always a boy. She loved him desperately, loved him even when he was a she, loved him more than she ever knew she could love somebody. They were connected, somehow, and she could not contain herself. She knew what had happened, she knew and she did nothing, said nothing, told no one. She didn’t want to betray her friend’s trust. But maybe it was worth it, to save a life, maybe she should’ve told, maybe she should’ve done something…
And then the fourth boy came along, with dark brown hair and small, dark brown eyes. He had gotten through to her when no one else could, he managed to calm her down, assure her that it was not her fault, none of it was. Somehow he had saved her, and she couldn’t make him see, and he turned his back on her, ignored her, never cared for her as she so hoped he would. She loved him, and of that she was sure, but she didn’t know if it was the same kind of love that she had felt for that first boy, with his flaming red hair and his bright blue eyes and that goddamned smile.
The third boy made it. The third boy survived. And she could breathe again, she could smile, she could live as long as he was. And she can always see his pain, and the dead in his eyes, but she knows now, or at least she hopes, that he is here to stay. He won’t leave her again. He couldn’t. No. He just couldn’t.
And then there was the fifth boy, who had always been there, always watching out for her with those small, twinkling blue eyes that matched her own exactly. He betrayed her. He betrayed her and he betrayed everyone that was closest to her and he was not there for her when she needed him the most and he abandoned her just like all the others had. And she knew she loved him, of course she loved him, but she didn’t know why or how or if maybe she only loved him because she was supposed to.
And that left her crying on the bed again, as all the others had.
Everyone had left her, and somehow, somehow it was all her fault, each and every one of them.
When the sixth boy came along, it was her turn to leave. And she knew already how much it hurt to have a broken heart. What she didn’t realize was how much it hurt to break one, too. She didn’t love him. She never loved him. Maybe she did. She didn’t know. But she wanted him gone, she wanted all of it gone, she wanted her life the way it was before he came along, before any of them came along, when she was happy, or sort of happy. She didn’t want it to hurt anymore. She wanted her heart to be clean, and pure, and free from scars, and that was all.
But then, would she ever be whole? Would she ever be alive again?
And here she is again, lying on her stomach with her face in her pillow, with wet dripping all down her face, calling herself stupid and wondering how on earth she had gotten so ugly. She had hurt a boy in the same way that she had been hurt, five times in a row, and she had hurt a boy in the same way that she had promised herself that she would never hurt anyone. And that made her ugly.
But then again, she is also hurt, and she is broken, and she longs for everything she used to have, everything she used to be before she lost herself completely, and she thinks to herself only one thing, the single thought that has been circling her mind for three whole years, starting with that first blue-eyed boy.
I used to be a beautiful girl.
And she lies on her stomach in her bedroom, and she feels the wet pools beneath her face as they grow, and she cries.
Here is a girl with tears in her eyes. She used to be beautiful, too.
THE END.