“is she your type?” i ask, motioning to the smokin’ hot YouTube guru i had playing on his desktop
“come here” he says, pulling me to sit on his lap at the edge of his bed
“you are my type” he affirms, wrapping his arms around my waist
“no i’m not” i laugh rolling my eyes, then searching his for a visual contradiction to his words
i find none.
“you are now.” and he kisses me on the cheek
having a mutual enemy
makes us mutual friends
don’t you see? she asks.
although i swear months before,
i was the enemy she spoke of.
we are not mutually exclusive to who we detest
& we can join, & disband any campaign of our choosing
the difference is,
i was not your friend,
so it was ok to wrong me.
she, in fact, was your friend,
so her wrong doings are unforgivable.
& although she hasn’t,
in true form, “wronged” me.. you’d like an accomplice.
someone to balance out the bully in you
someone to bear the burden of blame when she wakes up to this all.
what petty wars wage
over such unworthy men.