We all have contracted the bad boy syndrome at one point or the other in our lifetime, when we are attracted to what can ruin us rather than fix us. We even accept the awful love we think we’ve earned. We are convinced that we are less than what they are, and that they are always more than what they actually are.

I fell for the bad boy once.

I fell for you.

It was an enticing thrill to meet a guy who doesn’t have a care in the world and never had enough f*cks to spare for the insignificant things of life. I fell for the charm of it because I wanted, in my own way, to be like him, but here’s the thing, my heart was made of a more delicate material, it was not covered in steel, at least not until I met him. I thought I could handle any hardship thrown my way, I thought I could avoid any wind, I thought I could move any mountain, I thought I could crush hills with the stomp of my feet, I thought I could make myself into your shadow, that I would be satisfied with living behind your every step because if that’s all you would be willing to give me, it’s what I would have to take.

Whenever we used to ride on your bike against the city lights, I was free in the seconds I wrapped my arms round your waist. I could feel the humming of the engine vibrate against the palms of your leather gloves, and with that I knew the danger awoke in you. You could feel the world around you as it moved in slow motion all around you; as if time itself had bowed down for you in a thousand colorful blurs. I loved to see the world through your eyes, even if it meant living behind you on your motorcycle.

Whenever you took a drag, the smoke would flow from your lips like a threat. It surrounded you, creating an air of mystery and trouble that became who you were. You were a beautiful masterpiece of misfortune, and I couldn’t help but stare at the work of art you were. What took me by surprise though, was that you stared right back. It was as if you saw a work of art you couldn’t understand, but still wanted to take that closer look.

I was warm in your arms.

My love dripped from my lips every time they touched yours.

I was safe in your embrace.

I was a mess under your gray, stormy eyes.

I was lost for so many years, but I found who I was in the moment I held your hand.

But I was wrong.

You were wrong.

Our entire love story was covered in roses; concealing all it’s deadly thorns.

It took longer than it should have, but I finally grew wiser. I would always look away when he texted another girl while we were watching our favorite movies. I would ignore the looks he threw over his shoulder, his hand slowly slipping from my waist. I would always forgive the excuses he made when he came home late and ignore the smell of perfume on his skin when he laid down next to me. He was covered in lies and full of deceit. The saddest part of all, was that I wasn’t worth the truth. He shared half his time with me and the other with any other girl he liked.

I always forgave him in the end, always loosened the leash, giving him an inch, while he stole an extra mile I wasn’t ready to give.

Now, I have to call it quits; I have to throw in the towel.

You are a menace to the self-esteem I have only begun to build. In your silhouette, a monster's dream.

My arms were still colored and shaded in black and blue while I laid in your arms.

My lips were still split in half when your lips touched them.

I closed my eyes in everything except peace when I slept in your embrace.

I was no longer safe in your arms.

I was a mess from the inside and out under your grey and dead eyes.

I lost myself in you, and I couldn’t fight my way out in the tight grip of your hand as you locked your fingers with mine.

I broke free from your caging grasp, and realized I needed to be more than just wanted, I needed to be loved. I needed a gentle boy that wouldn’t break me every chance he got. I needed a steady boy who didn’t find the allure of danger as addicting as the cigarettes he smoke. I needed a boy who wasn’t made of trouble.

I needed a boy who wasn’t you.

I don’t need to wear a leather jacket or ride a motorcycle to be considered dangerous my old friend, I am dangerous in my own way. I am not the rebel you pretend to be because I don’t need to prove anything to society or anyone except myself. I know who I am, and I know I’m better without you. I was merely the passionate red petals of a rose, while you were its thorns, still dripping with the blood from all the curious hearts you’ve pierced.

I am more than the girl who rode in your shadow.

I am what I became after you, because the best lesson I ever learned was learning to live without you.

I am not the girl who fell for the bad boy, but the girl that realized she was better off without one.