I was nineteen when I met a boy that embodied love, lust, and heartache. Every girl has a least one really major heartache. Some recover, others live in regret and self hatred for various lengths of time. Mine was named Brian. From time to time I reminisce, I think about what was said and done, how long it took me to wise up. I wasn't a true victim, I used him almost as much as he used me. I just wanted so badly to be his one and only, and all he wanted was for me to be his one and only once in awhile (if it was convenient). The past is past, he has been out of my life for so many years. Now I am happy and in love with someone who respects me. But, sometimes I think back. He inspired me to write alot (whether he knew it or not). It may have not been fantastic, but it was a purging of all that was bottled up everytime I put up with his on again off again flirtation. I only knew him for 2 years, but it seemed liked an eternity back then. So, I have been paging through journals tonight. I'm getting married soon, it seems like a good time to revisit the past. If that makes sense. And everytime I meet a girl who has a similar story, it brings it all up again. I want to help them, I want to make them wise. But, I can't. They have to go through it, just like I did. I wrote this poem a short time after I joined Xanga, but a long time after I had rid Brian of my life. I should have known better, The moment he stuck his fingers in my mouth to feel my teeth. He was always checking to see my experience, He really didn’t believe I was two years older than him. But I didn’t care. I was still standing on the corner of Willow and Main, Still disbelieving he ever spoke. A girl’s mother ought to warn her about boys like this. “Never date a boy that’s too good looking”, She should have said. You know the type. Not afraid to change his shirt in front of you before your first date. The kind of boy that every girl knows. And at a party you get all of those “How the hell did she….” looks With a side of “She’s so lucky”. My mother had been there before, But even after she met him, Was charmed by his teeth and the stain on his shirt, She never said a word to me. Maybe she figured it was a rite of passage. Or maybe she hoped I would come to her for advice, When it ended badly, And it did end badly. She and I were never close before. Only I don’t think she knew it would take this long. His hello was a wilderness of doubt, And he always said my name funny. Adrienne became “Agerienne” It was a year and half later And he was still questioning my years, My understanding of this game. His depression was self-centered as is usual. And he phoned at his convenience, And mine, As he knew. I had dedicated my thoughts to his cause. My self-righteousness was self-centered as is usual. And when the phone rang it was Game on. I knew the drill, Girlfriend no.6 since me had clung on for 7 months this time And it had been almost 3 since last we spoke, But I knew by that hello that she was gone. So I marked off his dialogue on my checklist Ten “I’m sorry”s Check Five “I’m an asshole”s Check “Fifteen “I don’t know what’s wrong with me”s Check And one “so how are you?” Blank. This had become a study of endurance. What a mother never tells her daughter, A best friend always does. But it never matters, When it comes to love, Or what she thinks is love, That girl is a lost cause. Funny how I never listened to an old friend’s advice And all it took was a new and fleeting friendship to get me to leave. It was the sound of their lips at night whilst they thought I was sleeping, That finally shook me out of my catatonic slumber. I puked three times that morning. Once for exhaustion, Once for betrayal, Once for strength. It had taken me less than five minutes to fall in love, And it had taken less than five to end it. His consistent charm had dissolved in his icy tone, And in two years we had never raised voices, Until now. He knew this time he couldn’t hold me. There would be no take backs, This game of tag was over. My mother and I raise glasses of wine now And toast our fortunate misfortunate loves. And if we belonged to a club, And we probably do. You could spot us all a mile away, It’s the tenseness, Of a little muscle in our back that held us up, Through it all. | 
