Those nights were so cold. I would sit, unmoving, hallow, listening to the dulcet whispers leak from your beautiful lips. I felt heaven in your presence; I felt home. I was a child once more. You seemed to adore my innocence as you spoke about your loss of such. I listened to your stories intently as if I’d never heard before. You blame everyone else. Yet your body feeds itself as if it were raised on an eternal harvest of toxic grain.

Your stories left me empty. I was a stranger waiting at a bus stop in the middle of a vacant town. It wasn’t winter, but I left always feeling just as cold as if I were coming inside from a cold winter’s day. You really were so clever. Oh, how your face seemed to glow. Lips spilling stories of your childhood, reeking of excuses and reasons of why you are the way you are.

To this day I wake with sweaty palms and a screaming tongue. Your name echoes from the very walls of the very room you once called your home.

The stories were all lies created from inside your once beautiful heart. Your smile painted me a picture with vivid strokes; lies and truth causing me to lose my innocence, my so called ‘youth’.

You are my best friend, but so shallow. I despise the person you claim to be. I know who you are; I know what you try so desperately to hide. Still you pretend I don’t. You pretend that I am the enemy plotting to steal another piece of your broken heart. I am bitter simply because I crave to give you a home. I crave to heal you.

You stole my innocence but I still wait around hoping and praying that you might just give it back.