Love at First Site

Dear Diary.

Rose's POV

Dear Diary, 

Where do I began exactly? The last thing I've ever written in this lame journal was about my unbarring love for Nash. Nothing has changed. The love that's pounding in my chest so violently and aggressively is worse because his arms are not around me. They're around someone better, someone more deserving for his love. I hate to admit this, but her beauty is raw and wild. Everyone knows how stunning she is (even if they don't want to believe it). I've tortured her for years because of the jealous flames that go through my veins. Every time I look at her delicate smile, I want to crush it with my bare hands, crumbling up any sense of happiness inside of her. I will not speak of that outside this journal. She might deserve him now, but once his demons come out, she won't be able to handle that much pressure. I'm surprised I did. Hell went on during mine and his relationship, but did that change my feelings for him? No because true love does not die. He can deny he loved me, but when he used to stare into my eyes, I felt it. I felt the amount of passion that was deep inside his crystal sparkling eyes. I might be crazy for obsessing over this one boy, but he's not just one boy to me. He's everything. 

Yet here I am, tears running down my face, splashing on this stupid piece of paper. My handwriting is getting rough as I keep writing. My hands uncontrollably trembling as the ink spills on the page. I'm miserable without his lips on my pale skin, inhaling all my love. He knew how much I called for him at night. Midnight would hit and my thoughts would be in a puddle. I craved him and his joyful wonders. The desire and lost still keeps me up at night. Sometimes I wonder what he would say if he knew how much he shattered my heart. Having the shards of broken pieces all over my body, stabbing me, torturing me every single time I saw his face. Or every time I saw his face with a smile plastered upon it while looking into his mistresses eyes. 

Yet there they are. Probably malling each others lips, tasting the pure lust that spills out from the back of their throats. Heavy moans exhaling from his mouth, calling out for me. He wants me. I know he does. Because as I throw back another shot of alcohol, get into bed with another meaningless boy, I imagine it's him. I call for him. I want him. 

And I will get him.

She's too weak to handle what he has in store.