“How did your first relationship go?”

We were sixteen. and he was hot, conventionally. When you’ve felt ugly all your life and someone desires you for the first time, you’d feel euphoric. When that someone is attractive, the already overwhelming feeling is doubled. And if you’re like me, maybe you wouldn’t even be able to tell if this euphoric feeling is really you liking him back. So you think it’s that. You go on dates with him, which leave you feeling unfulfilled because he doesn’t seem to be interested in things you say. You couldn’t hold long conversations with him. You liked to talk about ideas, about series and books. and your best friend He liked to talk about you and your family and your plans for college. Your mom says that men are just like that, they usually don’t listen. You knew not all men are like your dad but you don’t tell her that. Your guy–-he often talks about how pretty you are and for a while, it was enough for you. You were always “cute” and never “pretty” and now you are! But how happy was he when you told him that your psychiatrist is about to make you stop taking meds? When he asks you what you’re doing and you reply that you’re reading books or writing, why does he tell you to find a real hobby? When you send him selfies just for fun, why does he criticize your angle and your lighting? When you begged him not to go through your Facebook… and your mom’s Facebook, because you didn’t want him to see your old pictures did he listen to you? Did he not tell you that you only looked pretty in certain angles? When he asked if you found it weird that he went after you after getting rejected by your best friend, you told him it was fine. but it was not, because you did too and you hated her boyfriend’s guts. Throughout your short-lived forced relationship, you would silently compare him to her. His dismissal of writing and her interest in your work. The way she’s enthusiastic about your thoughts and stories and the way he suddenly changes the topic. You realize he only liked you for your looks—the very thing you thought you were lacking in, and the stories his friends would tell about you. You think that you should have known earlier on, when you tried to write a poem about him but couldn’t put down a single word to keep. You’ve written four and counting about your best friend, though.