November 2015 - Imme Visser
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Philipe (fiction)

Philipe wanted to make me feel bad about myself. It was a power move. He knew that I was madly in love with him, and even though he did, he kissed a red-haired girl when I was near. Okay, I thought, that’s it, tough luck. He obviously likes this girl more than he likes me. It hurt. I had enough.

Over the summer, Philipe didn’t stop contacting me, seeking me out. I was embarrassed, always giving pure honesty to him, asking for anything in return but receiving nothing. After a while it didn’t bother me so much. It was summer, I was having a good time with my friends: we often hung out at parks or climbed the wooden towers in the forest. We jumped fences and rolled down hills. Philipe was never there. He had never been part of my group of friends. They thought he was nasty.READ MORE