eighteen

The first boy you fall in love with is the starting quarterback. His blonde locks grace the top of his head like a halo and other girl’s mouths involuntarily drop when he walks by, and yet he chooses you. After the football games you get into his rusty pickup truck, but he doesn’t drive you home; always his house first. You say nothing when his hands go too far up your skirt and when his team loses he gets angry, really angry, and you might leave his house with a bruise or two but it’s okay because you love him, right? You were only sixteen.
The second boy you fall in love with smokes cigarettes and wears old leather jackets. He listens to classic rock on a stolen record player in his room with black walls. His fingers strum the chords of that angry electric guitar as you watch from a table in the back of the bar. He thinks he knows everything about the world, everything about you, but he really only talks about himself. He’s mysterious and confusing and yet you think maybe he’s the one. You utter I love you in the darkness of his room one night, but he pretends not to hear. You were seventeen.
The third boy you fall in love with reads alone in the library during lunch and twiddles his thumbs when he asks you out after chemistry class. He comes to your house that night with roses and introduces himself to your father with a shaky voice. He brings you to a movie and takes an hour to muster up the courage to hold your hand. His warm fingers intertwine with yours and suddenly it’s bliss. He walks you to your doorstep and after a terribly awkward silence, he leans in and places an innocent peck on your lips. Overtime, he makes you realize you were never really in love, not until him. You’re eighteen, and you finally got it right.
—  hard to know what love is when you’ve never really had it

I hate the way you talk time.
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car,
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick,
It even makes me rhyme.

I hate it… I hate the way you’re always right,
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh,
Even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you’re not around,
And the fact you didn’t call.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,
Not even close,
Not even a little bit,
Not even at all

—  10 things i hate about you