In my life, nobody has a more haunting quality than the nice guy.
The one who held me in clear blue eyes. In that gaze, nothing could hurt me. He loved me most fresh faced in just a t-shirt, and I’ve never felt prettier than that.
We’d laugh ourselves sick, tangled in each other, playing x-box and talking our own language. The nice guy, he respects women. Really, deep down respects them. You could see it in the tender way he treated his mother. In the tender way he treated me. He’d hold my hand and just marvel at that touch. Every time I cried, I saw his heart break.
He wasn’t perfect, the nice guy. But he was honest and true, and he loved me with every cell in his vital body.
The bad guys, they use you and fuck you and hurt you. They do this because they can. There is no glory in this ill-fated contract, no matter how tortured and romantic it seems at the time.
The nice guy, he didn’t finish last.
I did. Because I didn’t hold on to the nice guy while he was mine.
I’ve learned my lesson. I’m holding onto you.
