I get so mad when S.O plays songs about his exes. It’s not a jealousy thing, I don’t believe in being petty like that. Jealousy isn’t a trait I ever want to add to my infantry of worse quirks, jealousy will cut you up for no reason, it’s the side-effect of over-thinking that I have yet to develop.
It’s not jealousy that cuts me every time he strums out the chords of betrayal and abandon, girls who have “drugs” and “trash” slung across their backs, weighing down my opinion of them. Girls who don’t care much for properly loving someone as lovely as him, lost girls, dumb girls, girls who don’t arrive for dinner. There’s an artillery of girls (okay, like five) who have lyrics and notes wrapped around their stories, they didn’t stay, they’re chords did.
And I get mad. I get so angry, the type of quiet angry where my eyes flash and my face gets flushed as I think of every painful note, every strained syllable of hurt that went into his songs.
Girls like me won’t get songs written for them. Girls like me aren’t so heartless.