He pulled me close in a corner of a crowded noisy bar and told me I had him at hello, he was captivated by the way my hair was down when I was on my phone. I was stunned at that moment and all I could do was pull out a nonchalant smile and he said stop giving me that bright smile it’s killing me. Compliments that I’ve never had in my life spilled out of his mouth in a way I never thought would happen to me and I know deep down it somehow gave me something I craved. So I crossed my own lines and watched my self drifting away from my moral standards. I gave up the understanding of who I am, just when I thought I was finally getting clearer about it. He said I was the highlight of his three months Europe trip, he called me every intimate nickname and left the promise that he would always miss me. Then he left after he got what he wanted from me, never talked to me again and disappeared into the fog on a dark river. I wouldn’t say I’m hurt. At least not by him. But by myself, and what I’ve done. It was the thrill I love, not him. The moment he left, he left me with all the mess in my head and a broken piece of puzzle I would work so hard to try to figure out. And also the images that would make me throw up every night when i inevitably start to reminisce.