Cracked Porcelain

February 2

I love the way her messy blonde hair flows all over the place, how she doesn't care if a strand or two has fallen out of place. I love the way she sings obnoxiously to any and every song that she’s ever heard even though she can’t hold a note. I love the way her full lips curl up around the edges when she thinks shes said something clever. I love how she’s always right even when she’s wrong. I love her long lioness lashes that spread out like fans. I love her golden eyes that shine brighter than any kings gold. I love the shape of her nose, the curve of her hips and the entitlement in her voice. I am utterly infatuated with her.

Have you ever thought of all the ways someone could rephrase the same amount of time by changing weeks to hours, hours to minutes and minutes to seconds? It’s interesting, really, once you stop to think about it but no one ever does. For example It’s been exactly two weeks and four days since Magnolia was suspended from school for getting into a fight over who knows what. To be honest I didn't ask and she never told me. That means it’s been eighteen complete days since her and Mrs. Eleanor Summers had that huge dispute that inspired my little glass doll to hastily pack a duffel bag and show up on my doorstep declaring a place to stay. Not exactly her sexiest moment nor my most enthusiastic but nonetheless my girlfriend needed me so I welcomed her with opened arms. In other words two teenagers have been playing a game of house for four hundred thirty-two hours. Which in turn gave me 25,920 minutes of noticing every little thing about her to the point that even I thought it was beginning to get a tad bit creepy and exactly 1,555,200 seconds has ticked away since my porcelain princess fell off her throne and I realized that she had more cracks in the glass I once saw flawless.

You see, the thing is, It’s not like I didn't want Magnolia to live with me it’s just I could foresee all this shit coming. But what was I suppose to do, shut the door in her face? Hell no. They say after awhile you start to look at people differently then when you first met them and that shit was exactly what was happening to me. Everything that I thought was cute was starting to morph in something I couldn't stand.There was a reason I didn't believe in marriage and that was because married people knew too much about the other. Some stuff was meant to stay in the dark. Believe me! And the absolute worst part is once you find out all this shit about the other person you can’t even escaped because you’re bounded by law. ‘Til death do you part, motherfucker. And to be honest if we were married I think I’d be ready for death.

It turns out that I couldn't stand the fact that she rarely brushed her hair. I disliked the way she never shut the hell up about about things that I would never understand such as period cramps or vintage shirts not in her size. I hated how brilliant she thought she was with that same fucking smirk painted on her lips. I detested how much more she knew than me on just about every subject. She even partied harder than I ever could. I loathe those lashes of hers that kept secrets like curtains kept in darkness. I despised her unseen pretentious habits, how not even my friends could see past her beauty, her lack of flaws, her absolute perfection! And most of all I couldn't fucking stand that despite all of this I would still awaken at night, the moonlight hitting her just right through the open window, I knew that I would forever be under her enchantment and I hated myself for it.

With or without marriage, from the moment I saw her, for me it will always be “Til’ death do us part.”