Hi all!
It's been forever, has it not? I feel awful for not putting aside some YWS time. I got guilty about putting this on SheezyArt before here, so it's up now. And I PROMISE to do more critiquing.
Even though I suck at it.
So! Anyway. This! This was a product of one of those spontaneous "You know, I just kind of feel like writing" moments. I rather like this, actuallly. 
Yours truly,
Haley---
There wasn’t any breeze that day, which was odd, honestly; all the gloomy, heavy clouds overhead, and that charged feeling of an oncoming storm in the air, yet no wind to accompany it. The park was deserted, and dead leaves were strewn on the ground. The way the sunlight filtered through the gray mass that was the heavens made every shade of color look washed out.
And there I was on the swing.
I pushed back a little, moving through the thick air. I dug my shoes into the ground, then squinted at the sky. I loved muggy summer rains, but not when I had someone to meet. I looked back down, pulling at the disheveled hem of my jeans.
Then I heard that distinct sound of feet crunching dully on bark chips. I didn’t bother looking up.
The seat next to me squeaked under someone's weight. Head down, I looked over at his ancient navy Converse with "Love you!-- Em" scrawled on the rubber siding by my green pen. He sniffled, swaying back and forth, remaining silent, waiting. It amazed me how well he could read me, how well he knew me. It was also pathetic that he didn’t care enough to try and fix what he had helped to destroy. His swing slowed like a pendulum to a nonexistent pace.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi, Ed,” I returned flatly.
“Are you ready to--”
“You’re 43 minutes late,” I interrupted, looking at my watch. My expectant stare into his face was returned with an oblique glance that looked anxious. I looked back at the ground.
“I’m sorry. I just... forgot.”
“Again. You’ve got quite an awful memory. I mean, when you call someone, and then text them an hour before you’re going to meet, you kind of expect them to show up. But I guess that was foolish of me.” The built-up spite was coming out more heavily than I had anticipated. I didn’t care to ebb the flow.
Ed was silent, apparently afraid of prodding the snarling animal that was me. His cowardice only angered me further. Shouting sounded good, but I didn’t trust myself to keep from getting tragic.
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
“This meeting was you making it up to me.”
“I'm so sorry, Em. I swear, I really meant to be here on time.”
He reached for my hand, and I quickly gripped the chain.
“You shouldn’t swear.”
I stared out at the teeter-totter. I suddenly wanted to lean my head on his shoulder, but scolded myself for losing my resolve. Some far-off thunder rumbled.
“Are you just… not going to forgive me?”
Don’t make me out to be so heartless, I thought. If it had been anyone else I was here to meet I would have smiled, laughed it off, said, “No, no really, it’s alright.” But that grace ran out a long time ago.
I felt cheated. This relationship that was spoken of with such enthusiasm and sought after by so many of my peers was becoming more empty with each day. Each time we told each other “I love you” it was more dishonest.
I looked at him and, suddenly, I felt nauseous. This person I had been so passionate about months ago, was now someone who revealed to me the worst side of people, and my own nature. Not so long ago our togetherness was so new and exhilarating. Being held was so blissful, being listened to so precious, being understood so intimate.
Now it was a lie. We had become somewhat of an accessory to each other. I was his girlfriend, not his best friend.
When I had finally gained the courage to speak- as the look on his face was more than a little disarming- the words came very softly.
“We both know it’s over.”
He looked away and closed his eyes, his head bowing slightly. After a stretch of time, he nodded. I shut my eyes, and my stomach jolted. I listened as the form next to me stood and walked in front of me. I could feel him inches away. His hands took mine. His lips touched my forehead.
“See you later.”
I listened as he walked away, shut his car door, and drove off.
It wasn’t until several minutes later that the pain hit me. The hollowness was suddenly replaced with sorrow and remorse and guilt and loss. A sudden ache grew in my throat. I failed at choking down sobs, as my eyes overflowed down my cheeks.
I felt as though the sky, with some prophetic sympathy, should release its torrent and join me, but the heavens are surprisingly dense.
---
(Hehe. I think I actually wrote the last line before anything else.)
So, please, feel free to rip it apart, and point/laugh at my grammar.
Also, do you think the texting thing okay? And what about using "returned" as a tag?
Thanks!
