February 7th, 2010
Jake is hot, no doubt.
But I don't like the way he watches me as if I'm a nutcase. I'm not as fragile as everybody thinks. I'm not ALWAYS suicidal. And I don't need sympathy from hot guys who think they have it all, to hold my hands just because they think it eases my woes. Because when Jake tucks my hair behind my ear, I don't see Jake, I see revenge (but not on Jake). I want to break that mongrel into bits.
It's the way how some boys with a dangerous magnitude of attraction tries getting close to me which scares me off. But of course, Jake can't be attracted to me, right? I'm merely damaged goods. In fact it's exactly the other way round which I fear to admit. The way he buries his toes in the sand, shaking his brown curls out of his sparkling green eyes whenever the breeze caressed his face, the way he towers over me makes me feel so safe just to be near him.
But this is a dangerous addiction. He keeps telling me how we can be such good friends for a long time, but his eyes tells a different story. He knew.
He knew that I'm damaged and it's too soon to love again. I could only wished that I'll recover before he vanishes into the thin air, exactly like the re-runs of the happiness I used to believe in.