Ideally, we would have met at college, start a friendship, it would slowly turn into love and we could be together, have a beautiful wedding, our house, a couple dogs and be happy.
Instead, we met at college, became friends, my best friend fell in love with his girlfriend and she broke her heart, just as she breaks his, just as he breaks hers.
He drinks too much, smokes too much. He is a heart breaker. He is handsome, charming.
He is dangerous, in the sense that he could break my heart. And I would let him.
I would drink and smoke with him, hoping that it would be enough for him to love me a little bit more. I would destroy myself to make him happy.
But then, I can't help but think that we could help each other, that we could be broken people together, making it all a bit better. Can't help thinking we could be so good together.
I would love him enough to make him stop killing himself so slowly, and he could love me enough to make me want to live again.
But it's never like the stories.
It doesn't have a ending, a love story or a plan. It's just experiences, and how you can learn about life while living endless stories, never waiting a happy ever after.