The Girl I Used To Be. . .

WARNING: If you don't like my usual lovey-dovey nonsense, do not read further! :P

The girl I used to be was simple. And kind and calm and polite and mostly honest. She was the definition of 'sweetheart' though nobody called her that. Whatever came her way, she accepted it graciously, good or bad. She never lost control, or overreacted or felt overwhelmed. At least, never in front of anyone. She hardly ever felt such negative emotions as jealousy and anger and hurt and insufficiency (if that's an emotion at all!) She was always just balanced, unaffected, unattached. She was comfortable alone, with her thoughts and her feelings and her dreams and desires. She knew that someday, things would change.

She was right.

She fell in love.

And how.

First came passion, like a giant wave that overrode her and swept her away into the wild, wild ocean of desire. She wanted him, like she'd wanted nothing else ever before. She was convinced, like an irrational child who expects rewards for every good deed, that HE was the prize for all her years of being so nice and patient and sickeningly goody goody. Having HIM would make up for all the years she had not had anyone special to talk to, share her innermost feelings with, reveal her truest self to. Oh yes, he was made for her, she knew it. Well, no, not quite. Deep down somewhere, she knew it was a delusion, a hoax, a sick joke. She knew he would never be hers. But that didn't stop her from loving him with everything she had, loving him fully and loving him true.

She shouldn't have. For that's where the problems stemmed from. The girl who had always been nothing but calm and balanced began to, quite literally, 'lose it'. First came longing, then came pain when the longing went unfulfilled. Then came insecurity and jealousy and hurt and a battered self-esteem and shattered self-confidence. Bitter words and bitterer fights, bitterest feelings of breaking up inside. When would she ever get out of the self-created vicious cycle of loving him and feeling hurt and manifesting the hurt in jealousy and anger only to end up more hurt but still loving?

She didn't know.

He didn't care.

It wasn't his fault.

She had brought it upon herself.

He hadn't told her to love him.

She had brought it upon herself, the girl I used to be.

She shouldn't have been so naive.

Good that she died, the girl I used to be.

Or is it?

Love murdered her, nice and slow.

Or did it?