clash

Introduction

Him, the giver of life; my life. His eyes, purely green, intimidating my deep brown ones. They never look away from me. They stare me down with so many emotions swirling through them. And, God, I know he loves me, and I love him, and I tell him every day! But he doesn't believe me- no.  More like he doesn't believe himself. Believe in himself.

Although it may not seem like it from the outside, he doesn't love himself. In the sexist, unrealistic, fairytale books, about what people think is 'love' it would be written out as the girl being insecure and the boy saving her. But, no. This is real life. Real experiences. You can't force someone to love themselves. And I'm not a savior.

This boy brings me every emotion you could guess. I want him to be happy. I want to help him. But how can he learn to love himself from me? Me. The bringer of clarity. Bluntness is a pro/con I have to offer. I'm a last minute, put-together, mess. But, he loves it. He loves how I'll wear sweatpants with a blazer. My hair not brushed but my full-glam-cake-face on.

He is an observer. He watches me drive. He watches me work. He watches me do my makeup. He then goes on to tell me that I don't need any, which results in me yelling at him to shut up, telling him I do it to impress myself. He loves it.

He laughs. I scoff. He gets over-excited. I'm practically emotionless. He cries. I fight. He's a sweetheart. I'm a bitch. We love all types of movies. We hate where we're from but love the memories it gave us. Stories to tell. We're both living the dream. We have plans. Jobs. Work to do. We break up for the best...

But we always accidentally end up back in each other's paths. He has short hair, always styled; but never the same. My clothing style is intense. $400 designer body-con dresses hang next to my beloved $13 ripped-up sweatpants. He's had the same friends for years. My friendships are always ending, starting, even re-starting. We live for music. All music. Rap, pop, alternative, country, screamo, rock.

My parents hate me but call me twice a week. His parents cook us dinner three times week. I get sick often and he refuses to nurse me back to health because's he's a germaphobe. It's okay, though, because he knows, that I know, that he loves me.

We compare ourselves to each other; we're alike but also completely different people. He tells me our song is 'Pretty Little Girl' by Blink-182. I argue knowing it's 'Medicine' by The 1975. We kiss to Bruno Mars but fight to Avril Lavigne. We're meant to be; yet the worst for each other.

We like it anyways.

author's note:
hi omg ok so i have so many ideas for this book . i don't have them necessarily mapped out but that's ok!!! i'm so so so pumped for this book y'all have no idea. the intro is kinda just a lil inside to their personalities. pls comment what u think and how i can improve ily all