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I hate writing about girls.
Jan 9, 2010 - 4:24 PM
By: Brian Millado
I hate writing about girls. I hate writing about the cute girl on the sidewalk, or in this case, the hallway… school hallway. Like, seriously, I hate writing about stuff like… how school essays became love poems about you and how on report cards, the many F’s became Forever’s and seldom A’s became Always, so fuck falling, I fail in love with you. And though I’ve just met you, I wouldn’t call this love at first sight because ever since my heart strummed to the beat of life, the mould for my perfect girl began to take shape to the dimensions of her soul. It’s not worth it, is what my friends say, but I’m rich with attraction so I can afford taking that risk. They say apples don’t fall far from trees, so I’m guessing she’s the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden and taking a bite out of her would only bring drama and tears and anguish to my life…. but she’s worth it. Or so I try to convince myself. There’s only so much I can say about you, because I feel like describing you in literary words are an insult to who you really. And I even hate saying cliché stuff about how we be taking history when we could be making history. I love this feeling, but in the end…
I hate writing about girls.
I hate being so much in love. I hate writing about how when I was with you, seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours, and hours into days, and days into weeks, and weak into knees, and the birds and the bees, and B’s turned into A’s, and A’s became C’s, and seas became waves, when waves became hi’s, but high’s not became lows, as these high’s became clouds as 1 cloud became 9, because, damn, she is fine. As she passes by, my back reclines… she’s worth the second look. And as much as I try to fight it, I hate how I’d be looking so far into the future with you thinking about weddings and putting on wedding bands on the wedding hands on the wedding girl from the wedding man and booking the weddings bands in the time of the wedding span, but this early thinking about weddings? Damn. Sounds like a wedding cram. I even take those teenage anniversaries to a whole new level, calling you at 2:00am in the morning talking about, “Happy 257th hour together.” And while I’m on the subject, I hate that I’m always tired. I hate how I’d abuse my free-rogers-to-rogers with you listening to your inhales and exhales at 4am mornings. I hate how ignorant you are… because when I tell you hang up first, I mean it, because I don’t have the heart to leave you. And I hate being so sprung, sprung past spring, hot as summer, as I fall in love with you. I hate how I’m blinded by you… tunnel vision seeing you as the light. I hate cliché lines about how love can conquer all, and I hate how it’s true. Well, kinda. But in the end…
I hate writing about girls.
I hate writing about how much you meant to me. I hate how I have your number inscribed in the inner walls of my mind. I hate not being able to weather the storm of streams of tears and lakes of hate and floods of hurt and seas of memories. Our ship of relations sinks as the mighty Titantic. Poseidon wouldn’t have that. Accusations fly as bullets do, as she says… and he says… but she says, but he says… and you say, but I said… I hate staring into the hollow eyes of the same girl in the same hallway I fell in love with her in. The same fucking hallway. Forever’s and Alway’s, right? I love you, but I hate this. And I hate how I love you, but I love how I hate this; and how all is fair in love and war, but I wield a sword as a warrior on this battlefield alone. Eviction letters on her life telling me I’m no longer welcome anymore and how you don’t love me anymore, but in reality, I’m not ready to leave just yet… I’m not ready to leave just yet… And even though I hate writing about girls, I love you… and I’m not ready to leave just yet.
So you really want to know why I hate writing about girls?! Do you really want to know why? Because no matter how much I write about you, no matter how much, about the good times, the bad times, the times I’d trade my heart for again, I can never write about you… with me.
I hate writing about girls.