An Open Letter To All The Fuckboys In My Life

An open letter to all the fuckboys my life,

If your sole purpose in starting something with me was to fuck me over, congratulations! You’ve succeeded. And you’re a piece of shit.

I mean know I have a thing for pain, but I really must have “hurt me” written on my fucking forehead.

I’m a good person. Young, stupid, and naïve may also be (better) words to describe me, but my intentions are always pure. The way you treated me, I wouldn’t be able to say the same thing about you.

I tell you from the beginning that I have trust issues. I tell you from the beginning that opening up will take time. I tell you from the very beginning that the only thing I ask for is honesty. So if that’s not something you’re interested in… why are you here?

Do you just look for the first girl with a good heart and try to break it?

I really don’t understand.

There are hundreds of thousands of girls who don’t care, who don’t want relationships, who are down to just fuck around – I’m not one of them. I never have been and I never will be. So again, why are you here?

I think I’ve figured out your game now though. And maybe I should blame myself for not noticing how blatantly obvious that that’s all this is to you: a game.

It starts off really sweet. You make me feel like you’re different – like I’m different. That this is all just as new for you as this is for me. You seem honest and vulnerable. We talk about everything from music to our pasts, and you make me believe that someday, I could be in your future.

You let me get used to you. Texting all day, texting all night, and trying to see each other whenever we can. You say “I like you” and I hesitate because those are words I haven’t used on anyone before. But maybe, just maybe you’re different. Maybe you won’t be like every other single fuckboy that has walked right in and out of my life.

I don’t know if I’m falling for you, but I miss you all the time. And I can’t seem to get enough of you.

I think that you really are different.

But when I finally tell you how I feel, the game is almost over because you got what you wanted. You’re satisfied. It’s onto the next level for you while I’m still stuck here.

But I thought you were different.

I’m questioning everything now. I’m going crazy because things are suddenly changing so quickly. Morning texts transition to afternoon, and soon – we’ll talk for a few minutes at night. If even. But here I am, still holding on.

Because I thought you were different.

One night, I’m telling myself that I have to begin trusting. I can’t just write this person off because the last guy fucked me over. The next night, my gut is telling me that you’re with someone else. Maybe you’re not, but it still fucking hurts. I shouldn’t have to fucking beg for someone’s attention. If you wanted me, you would show it and I would know it.

So it’s game over. If I’m lucky, you weren’t seeing anyone. But I’m just not good enough for you to be in a relationship with. If I’m unlucky, you were seeing someone the whole time. And not only do I not feel good enough, I feel dumb as fuck for ever believing that you were “not playing games” with me.

Maybe you feel like you didn’t lose out on anything by losing me, but I can guarantee you did. Some girl must have hurt you for you to go fucking around with 100 other girls to compensate for your own pain.

But I was down for you and only you and like the saying goes:

I’m fucking gold, but some people prefer silver and that’s okay.

Leave a comment below

comments

ARIELLENYC