My head has a heartbeat. It’s like a train thrashing through me so hard, so fast that it leaves skidmarks on my face. Only you feel my frailty, only you know how secret our scars are, how pretty they look. This city has my name etched into its curves but I’m not ready to flash mine yet. I’m not sorry you did. If you are, you’re an idiot. Over time you’ll learn that boys are bred to be played with, not to fall in love with. Sometimes, they fall in love with you, which is nice too. But come on, we don’t want to be watched we want to steal attention, break hearts not butter them, fuck the ones that won’t look us in the eye. I’m still not sorry. Filter. The ones you want from the ones you don’t. But don’t smile for them, promise me that. You don’t need to. Learn to live with yourself, to cry without an audience. Someday they’ll all clap for you, I promise.
And you’ll be standing in the dark.
Because you like it.
Love, Niv.
