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Secrets or Lies?
I don't believe I can describe my situation... Well our situation... Your situation? It is something you can't describe. Like the taste of salt on your tongue from the beach air or the feeling of your hand holding mine. It was something that hurt so badly but you held on because the moments when it felt okay, were by far the best moment you could ever have. And I found the best moments were certainly worth the hard ones.
The ones that make it hard to breath, and I'm walking around my house like a ghost not knowing what to do with my ever running mind and my mother asks if I'm okay and I say yes because describing to her the pain wuld hurt too much. And words can't begin to describe you.
I suggested I see a therapist. My mom nodded and thought it was a good idea. Maybe I would see a therapist. Not someone we knew though, so I could tell them things without the therapist telling our family friends. Like how yelling was a new way of conversations and sitting on the roof was the only thing that made me feel alive.
You make me feel alive.
With your brown eyes and hair that, so graciously stays perfect even when you insist it looks wrong. How you run your fingers through it and smile at me as if I was the only one who begged for your attention. As if I mattered.
Then there came the moments I can't describe. Where it gets too complicated and I sit here crying about how sad and pathertic my life is and you call me and my heart jumps and I listen to you telling me youre leaving.
To be far away from this. From life. From her and how, now this killed me, how nothing was holding you back. You must not have noticed how desperatly I held onto you.
How I watched your every step with eyes that would swallow you if they could. Every step that you walked away from my little lunch table. Careful steps. Hard earned steps. You usually didn't have your black backpack on, it was with your girlfriend. I would glance away shamefuly. It hurt how badly I wanted you to be mine and how wrong it was for me to think these thoughts.
You would sit on my couch, awful close to me, and look over and smile. You had called me earlier about how you were going to talk very seriously with me. Probably about us, about her. About how you were stuck. These conversations never happened. We would sit and watch a movie and you would play with my ring and make my heart leap and I would laugh and pretend I wasn't falling ever so hard for you. And then, you would leave.
You would be stuck once again. And I would laugh at you, playfully telling you that if you were in a sticky situation peanut butter usually would get you out of it. You looked down and smiled at me then.
You must really like Captain America.
You wore that shirt with his sheild on it so often. The gray one that was made to look old on purpose. You told me so often how you would come see me a movie with me. Come to the theater I worked at and sweep me off my feet and take me to see a movie.
Maybe you didn't tell me that. It might have been a day dream, one of many.
They usually involve you apearing randomly in places I go. Like leaning next to the door of my math class. With that smile that I melt over.
You have dimples when you smile. Gorgeous imperfections that you hate so badly and thatIi live to see. And your smile is usually accompanied by your laugh. You say you sound like a hyinna, I dissagree completly. Your laugh makes me want to laugh. Makes me wish I could own that laugh. Instead of my insesant snorting. You swear you love my laugh, how cute it is that I snort when I laugh too hard. I think it's absolutly terrible. But you tickle me and make me laugh and smile with your dimples and perfect teeth.
My phone is infected with your smile.
Pictures of you that you've sent with texts like "Message 16 still missing you Colette." That one time when you thought I was ignoring you. And kept texting me late into the night. Wishing I would answer and swear it would be okay and asking why I wasnt answering you.
Looking at my phone now I miss our conversations.
I realise I've never heard you sing or see you cry. Though I've heard you ask me not to cry.
When you told me you were leaving.
And for some reason, I couldnt decide which of the thousands was the culprit, I began to cry. Sobs that you couldn' hear from the other end. All I had supplied was silence.
And like you were right next to me, putting your hand under my chin and lifting my face to yours like you do when youre teasing me, you nearly whispered, "Oh C, Don't cry." That was the time I realised I adored your voice. I had liked it before but... but I hadnt realised how much I needed it.
Now that youre gone i dont hear it often.
I only see you for sad snippets of daily life. When you stop by during lunch to say you were sorry your phone wouldn't work for who knew how long and that you may actually be leaving.
The way you looked at me, your brown eyes trying to tell me something I couldn't get from your voice. That you couldn't tell with others watching.
You had worn your Captain America shirt again.
You hadnt shaved for a few days and your hair that used to stick straight up without your help was now sighing under the pressure and flopping to one side.
The left side.
You would run your fingers through it when I complimented you. Never looking away from me. Probably not realising that I wanted to get up and hug you right there. But that wasn't okay. Not in front of everyone. Which hurt more than I could say.
You stayed longer than usual at my little lunch table. Explaining how your weekend was. What had happened. Why you didn't shave. Where you were staying now. Why you might be leaving.
You put your hand on my shoulder and told me you would see all of us later. Another touch that noone would question. I wonder if they had guessed why you stood so close to me. Probably not. I had asked you why you did. You had ummed so very cutely. You had answered after a few minutes, I was right. You made me blush. Again.
I watched you walk away like every other time you had walked away. Not one glance back at me. By now you could probably feel my eyes following you.
Today was diffrent.
You still didnt have your back pack. I felt as if you were leaving me then. Not coming back.
I usually saw you before sixth hour. Standing over near one of the trees acting like you didn't know I walked that way. You would usually smile. Ask how my day was. Talk about something random as my mind would race and try to suck in as many moments with you it possibly could.
Then you say had to go. Smile. Walk away.
I would go then too. English. But my mind was always on you.
You weren't standing there today. Well you were. But you had glanced back once, I pretended not to notice, pretended to care about what my friend was saying to me. Something about dogs.
You kept walking.
Thats what drove me crazy. You had seen me right? You had to have. But you didn't wait. By the time I got to where you usually stood you were walking into the building. And I was left wondering why you had left me.
Leaving. My gosh you were leaving.
And I stay here wandering the halls of my home.
Noone even knowing I was crying over you, because, why would I?
It's not like I knew everything about you. It wasnt like I called you as often as I could and talked to you for hours on end. Not like you told me so often that we had so much in commen and that you wished we didn't.
Because most of it was terrible things.
Not like i loved you. Or you loved me. Because for all everyone knew, I was just me. And you were just you. And our stories never crossed as much as they really had. And no matter how hard I would try you would always be in my mind. Stuck there. Suspended in spaces of laughing and smiling frames of time.
Wonderful moments that my mind was nice enough to remember. And sad moments I was so gracious I didn't forget. For all anyone knew, I barley knew you. And the reason why I was crying? They thought it had nothing to do with you leaving. I just pretend to smile now.
Because from what everyone knows, I have no reason to be so incredibly sad.