amour fou

i have always regarded myself as someone that was a good judge of character. i’d never had any real problems with those that i considered my close friends and those that i’d spurned out of intuition always proved me right, in the end. i had the perfect group of friends that were pure in their intent, and even just in the essence of their being. sure, they were imperfect, just as humans tend to be, but that was not an issue for me. humans will be humans.

now that high school is over and done with, and i am on the verge of being shipped off to arizona for the next two to four years, i have been doing a lot of reflecting. more than usual, that is. i’ve had a lot of quiet time alone in my brother’s spare room in his small house in the middle of the desert to contemplate my being all throughout high school. i assume that many people think in the same fashion that i do the summer before college begins. college is another clean slate, a fresh start, another chance to reinvent ourselves, just as high school was presented to us, in our middle school years.

i’ve come to the conclusion that my intuition is wrong, and has always been. if there are any regrets that i have about high school, it’s that i misjudged nearly everyone that i came across. there is one, in particular, that i have been rather inconsolable about.

the boy that i was in love with, was revealed to be a liar. he lied about everything that he’d ever said to me, about himself, about other people, everything. he was my best friend, and there was nothing in the world that could have convinced me that he was anything more than just an innocent, if a little strange boy. perhaps it had to do with my blatant affinity to him, but my own ignorance allowed his hurt to spread. even looking back at this blog is painful, because there are so many posts, so many thoughts written about him that now cause bile to rise up in my throat; he lied to me for so long that i don’t even know who am anymore. there was always a small part of me that was a part of him. we were closer than close could be. or, so i that everything has turned out to be a lie, a facade to keep others intrigued in the dark, gloomy boy that he is, instead of a genuine person,

now that everything has turned out to be a lie, a facade to keep others intrigued in the dark, gloomy boy that he is, instead of a genuine person, i’m left with a part of myself that i’m not sure fits anywhere, anymore. it’s a part of me that formed because of him, the person that he pretended to be. it takes up a good deal of my personality, and for what? to remind me of someone that lied to me from the moment that i first set my unfortunate eyes upon him? unbelievable.

my only reassurance is that am not pretending. i am my own person, whereas he was a figment, someone out of his own creation. he is an amalgam of loneliness and information gleaned from books about a place so far off that people would not be able to discern his masterful illusion from the harshness of his reality.

not only am i sad for the years that i lost to his pretending, i am sad for the relationship that never happened, in all reality.

what’s really tragic about this whole affair, is that he made my everyday life seem so magical. perhaps that is my tendency to seek validation from others talking, but it’s the truth. every moment i spent with my beautiful butterfly boy, i felt alive again. he’d tell me stories of his friends, back in his home country. he told me that they’d like me. that he liked me. that i was one of the best friends he’d ever had. and, in tandem, i returned the sentiment. there was never a moment in which he seemed disingenuous. we were two peas in a pod. a platonic match made in heaven, the friendship that everyone aspires to.

but he exists without really existing; every aspect of his personality is one that has been heavily scrutinized, reviewed by himself before it ever saw the light of day. i fell in love with an illusion. a character.

a fictional person.

and all who opposed him? the people that i spent years mocking, snubbing? they were those that were wronged.

and i let it happen. again and again and again, until his false reality was mine, too.

my butterfly boy was not really a butterfly at all. despite his cunning and his illusions, i loved him.

but that does not change one simple, unavoidable fact…

my butterfly boy does not exist.



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