I don't know what you saw in me.

No. I’m not fishing for compliments here.

Just curious if you would ask me.

You see, I’m not your type. I know that.

I’m not the pretty, shy girl who smiles like an angel that fell from the sky.

No, I am not.

I’m not the sexy, alluring girl in her cheerleader’s uniform who astounds the crowd with her God-given gifts.

Definitely not.

I’m not even the braided-and-glasses girl at the bleachers, staring lovingly at a football player, hoping that someday he would notice her existence.

Sigh. I wish I were, but I'm not.

You see, I’m just well, me.

Normal to others, boring to some.

So normal that you wouldn’t even notice me in a crowd.

Like some blurry image that passes by in this mundane life, you wouldn’t even spare a glance.

No special feature, no best asset. Just plain.

Like plain rice.

So, what did you see in me?

If not my physical attributes, then maybe my character?

Hmn, help me, I’m lost here.

Because I’m not even sweet. No, no.

I wouldn’t even call you baby, honey, darling, or anything.

Just your name.

I don’t even know how to flirt, to be honest. I don’t know how to use my eyelashes to lure someone and even the lip-biting thing, just like in the movies.

I'm sure if I would try that, you’d be puking right now.

I’m that awkward.

You know I don’t even like chocolates and flowers, right?

But the books that you gave me, they were highly appreciated.

I don’t even cry at romantic films, but I laugh at horror movies.

I know that you were embarrassed by me when I laughed so hard when we watched that horror movie at the cinema.

Sorry.

But I liked watching mystery films/series with you. Especially when I’m always right at guessing who the culprit/murderer is.

You would always tease me that I’d be a serial killer someday; after all, psychopaths have the same way of thinking. They recognize their own kind.

Well, that can be arranged.

So be careful and don’t ever try to cheat on me.

K-I-D-D-I-N-G, but DON’T cheat. Okay?

You loved sports, whereas I loved watching sports. You laughed at me when I cried when Ronda Rousey was beaten by Holly Holm. Truly, a sad day.

I can see John Cena; I don’t know why others cannot.

And you love it when I talk trash whenever we’re watching a basketball game. I’m an underdog team fan and hate bandwagons.

And whenever I talked about 1942, pyramids in Egypt, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Aztecs, Mayans, etc. to you, it was a lullaby; you can’t help but fall asleep.

History is boring, eh? But not for me.

I don’t know what you saw in me, or why you chose to stay with me.

Maybe we complement each other. So different, yet we understand one another.

Or maybe you don’t have a choice but to be with me.

But I doubt it.

Whatever it was, don’t ever change.

Because I want you here, beside me.

And please don’t ever forget:




I know how to hide a dead body.


© euphemia
7/17/2017

A/N:
Something I've written a long time ago. My personal favorite. Glad I found it.