No. 1

He still thought she was one the the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Not the most beautiful one, that would’ve been too unrealistic, and he hated lies, even those directed to himself. And he could see her as she walked by, so confident, so pretty, always smiling; but not everyone is capable of recognizing a fake smile. He could see right through it. He could see the loneliness in her eyes, even if boys texted her every minute of every day; he could see the insecurities, the pressure that fell on her to maintain that perfect body, because he knew that we are all craving approval, no matter in what aspect; he could see how hard she tried to look happy, even when she had trusted her heart and soul to more than one douchebag who only wanted to fuck her, and she trusted them because they all seemed nice and caring, right until they weren’t anymore. He knew it must hurt like a son of a bitch to have a life like hers, he knew she needed, she needs someone. And who doesn`t? He didn’t know why but he only wanted to sit with her and talk for hours, to make her laugh, to hold her and make her feel like everything was going to be okay, to eat a fucking gallon of ice cream and watch stupid sitcoms with her all day long. He wanted to fix her, to pick up her broken pieces and show her the true beauty she had within her, to let her know that she has so much more to offer than a nice body, that fuck them all for trying to put her in a box and label her. He was dying to go and be that guy, but how could he hope to fix her, when he couldn’t even fix himself.

-Relapse.