I’m The Girl in Your Stories

by | Jul 30, 2023 | And Now

Girl A
I don’t exist until you jerk me off onto the page. I’m the unreasonably hot bartender/baker/girlfriend with no personality who you don’t appreciate that serves as a mirror of your thoughts, who fulfills your prophecy, your bed as long as I don’t cause any trouble. What else could I do? I have no thoughts but the ones you give me. I’m nothing without you. You, you, you. I’m the boring girl waiting at home while you meet someone more exciting. Someone who challenges you. You can only take that in small doses, though, so you’ll always come back when the high is gone. I’ll lick your wounds and offer you a fresh Madagascar vanilla cupcake. I’ll fuck you like I don’t know where you’ve been, like you’ve always been the dutiful boyfriend who I might be lucky enough to marry one day. Because girls like me are always pulling you toward the unsatisfactory life your parents had before the divorce. I represent stability and traditional values that you don’t admire but admit might be more comfortable. Whether you put a ring on it or leave me crying is ultimately based on a whim. A dash of light across a window. A deer in the middle of the road. The hope that there might be someone better out there.

Girl B
You don’t exist until I jerk you back into life. You were a sad boy obsessing over the lost girl, the lost sister, the lost mother. You were drowning until I gave you mouth to mouth on that beach. You accidentally breathed in one of my breasts. Sorry, they’re just so big! They get in the way of everything! If it had been anyone else, it would’ve been weird, but you’re just so cool about it that we end up laughing. You open up after I get you drunk, and we go dancing at a club you couldn’t have gotten into without me. I’m wearing a cutout dress a decade too late, but I don’t care because I want you to know what you’ll have later if you don’t fuck it up and because it makes me seem iconoclastic, a trait you deem worthy. The leather jacket and the whiskey are for you, too. Just enough bad girl energy that I’m fun and new. Not so much that I’m completely unattainable. You think my constant need for stimulation is adorable, but I simply haven’t filled my Adderall prescription due to executive dysfunction. I’ll never tell. You confuse mystery with personality since you have neither. But I can dress you like a Ken doll and convince you to commit misdemeanors as long as I lean close and whisper in your ear. As long as it seems like fun. It’s almost like you dreamed me up to save you from impending self-inflicted doom. If we talk about it, I’ll say the right things and you’ll decide life is actually worth living. After a couple of days, another guy will wander into my life and I’ll do it all over again.

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