He was a boy. He managed to steal my heart and hold it in captivity for years. I loved him without knowing anything about him. His sturdy shoulder was always there to catch my tears. In my eyes, he had a heart of gold, not stone. He was imperfectly perfect and perfectly imperfect. Never had I thought we would end up like this.

He was a boy. We swore we'd be best friends forever. Every day we conversed and spoke about everything and anything. The more we communicated, the harder I fell. All was good and well until the one beautiful, glorious day when I just crashed at 100 mph. In that moment I knew there was no way we would ever be the same again.

He was a boy. His friends were all obnoxious, which I overlooked. His flaws punched me in the face when I was numb. His touch, his eyes drugged me with what I had believed to be his unconditional love. If I was miserable, he would cheer me up in a New York minute. If I was infuriated, he could tame the fiery dragon coming out of me.

But my eyes grew tired and I began blinking. And in those moments his true colors started peeking out. He revealed his aggravation by tiny things I did. He grew frustrated with aiding me through the darkness. And let’s not forget the one thing; the most appalling thing of all.

He was a boy. He hid many things that would have greatly affected our relationship with one, in particular, rubbing me the wrong way: his numerous encounters with Miss Mary Jane. The revelation that he had been keeping secrets from me, lying to me, deceiving me for as long as I can remember.

Every time I was skeptical this was going on, I pushed the thought out of my head because I believed I could trust him. But damn, was I wayyy off. We never spoke of the tragic events that unfolded but they permanently scarred me.

Now, whenever I’m in the same room as him I choke back tears. I can’t even look into his eyes without being transported to the obscure place filled with bitter words and heartless fiends.

He was a boy. His voice, the thought of him, his presence...they all kill me. I'm as good as dead. But somehow, some way I managed to survive this living hell with him in it. I fear the unknown and I wonder whether or not we'll be like this forever. I want to live my life parallel to his without this awkward intersection. He was so acute back then; now he is as obtuse as it gets.

Not once did we ever discuss his usage and I can understand why. However, my mind gets so confused, wondering whether or not he ever truly loved me and/or why he couldn't trust me if in fact, he couldn't trust me. All this stuff I want to know but am scared to find out. I care deeply for this boy. I can't bear to see him in distress. Is that so wrong?

He was a boy. I miss who I thought he was. I want to fix him and I want to further break him apart. The more I walk on these shards of broken glass, the heavier my heart bleeds. The blood's the only thing that lets me know I can still feel. All of our memories are permanently archived in my brain.No matter what I do I cannot forget about us and I can never seem to shake his presence off my heart. He was a boy. He shattered my heart and destroyed my dreams, passions and ambitions. He made a fool out of me and got away with it. He was a boy. Just not the boy for me.