Personal Narrative-Animalistic Attraction

although he wasn't traditionally attractive, what he lacked in looks he made up in charisma. people were drawn to him. he had a way of making you feel important, like you were the only person in the world.

Instantly, chemical animalistic attraction possessed us. from the moment he said hello, he didn't take his eyes off me. his laugh gave me goosebumps. his charms were like an infectious disease: one person caught it and passed it to someone else. Pretty soon everyone in the room was lapping up what he said, myself included

I don't know how much we actually talked that evening but I sensed our bodies needed to be touching each other.

we redirected the cab we were sharing to go home. the oxytocin, it's like a drug. I became an addict; I

at bars and clubs, we spent entire night wrapped around each other. I felt like I had won a prize. we lived off of each other's energy. on his arm, I became the most interesting person in the room.

our foundation was sex, but he soon became more than a lover. he became my best friend, someone I feel comfortable talking about absolutely everything with.

I was in a constant state of frenzy: wrapped up in the game of winning him, while battling an overwhelming sense of impermanence.

There was a magnetic pull between us, only the attraction swallowed me. I became uncharacteristically needy, and it pushed him away.

there was no grand finale or fiery crescendo. the novelty of it all had faded. he wasn't willing to slow down and commit to me, and I had grown tired of waiting. where spending time with him once excited me, now It just made me sad.

The texts were fewer and further between, until they stopped coming at all.

I never thought that he would get with somebody I knew. Little did I know you have to move to move on when you break up with your best friend. We went to all the same spots, hung out in the same group, and drove the same way

He's got his phone face down and his hair slicked back. My eyes fixed on him.

We rode all the way down memory lane, I'd say time looks good on him but that's not even a start. I knew it would be a long night from the moment when our eyes met and we started to talk about us again. He crossed the room right into my heart.

I fixed my dress and bit my lip. It got louder at the lights, music crashing in the dark. My hearts pounding in my throat and then it came out, "hey, you look like you haven't had a smile in a little while. Now listen I don't wanna leave here and pretend I'm not a cheater. I just want you to know I miss you I do, i miss you and I really want to kiss you.

Being the side chick means you're painted as a slutty bitch who is out to ruin the lives of committed, "good" women.

Conveniently exempted from this stigma: the person who chose to cheat on this "good woman." Despite the reputation, I know these truths about a side chick: She's rarely malicious. She isn't sleeping with another woman's boyfriend or husband because she's a terrible, home-wrecking