I'm not the girl next door you fall in love with, I'm the one you cheat on her with.

I'm not the best friend or the confident she hangs out and shares laughs with, I'm the plastic girl she keeps away from,

because I'm called the man-stealer, the blonde bimbo, the silicon barbie, because everything on me is fake, my hair, my boobs, my bland personality.

I'm the villain in a lot of love stories.

But, is this one, my own?

I doubt it.

Like I said, I'm that character who is used to create tension and painful breakups during a beautiful love story.

After I'm used, hated, and then thrown away, forgotten.

But this time, will I be remembered?

Or even, loved?