Let's say there's a girl. You know what I'm talking about: bright eyes, soft lips, the works - don't deny it. Everyone has that girl, the one that makes their head spin and sends their palms sweating and their hearts beating, and who wouldn't notice her, she's perfect after all, isn't she?
So let's say there's this girl. Let's say, just for argument's sake, that you like her. That she can make you feel on top of the world, king of everything, standing at the peek of the tallest mountain, barely paying attention to those small, ant-like figures down there, the people who used to matter. Yeah, remember them? They used to make your day just because of an idiotic joke or a random act of kindness such as paying for that cookie you really wanted for lunch but did not have the money to get. But the air is so fresh, at the top of your mountain, and the colors are so pretty, and you just feel... you just feel... feel what, exactly, if I might ask?
There are those days, too, those days where she doesn't pay any special attention to you; when her bright eyes glide over, as if you're not even there, as if you're wallpaper. At those days, you're down so low the floor is taller than you, aren't you? You slump your shoulder, crazy scenerios running through your head as you try to understand where you went wrong. You can't think properly anymore, all because of her, she's messing with your mind; she's always there, inside your head, whispering, laughing, smiling... but you like it, don't you? You actually like that she's that deep in your heart, it's almost a comfort, even if it hurts like this, hurts so bad that it throbs and the pain never lets up, not really, not deep down, but hey, they say love's supposed to hurt, so bring it on, full force, it can come at you, you just care about her that much - so much that you're willing to go insane.
If I ask what you like about her, would you be able to tell me? She has smoothe skin, I know you like that, with no make-up at all, not like those other girls, those that giggle during break time in a loud manner, talking about what they did with their dates and how this guy was that and that guy was this, laughing and saying that they're so slutty, but not like her, she's sluttier, she's the lowest, no, we're better - no, she doesn't even wear make-up, she just comes as herself. I bet you like her hair, wavy waist-lengthed locks, falling into her eyes as she walks sometimes. Her eyes. I shouldn't even go there, should I? You adore everything about them, there's no way of describing it. You stare at her eyes like a complete moron, mouth hanging open, did you know that? Watch out so you don't drool.
So let's say there's this girl. Let's say that you like her. Let's say that she was never yours. The pain is getting worst, you feel it too, heavy, like a stone on your heart, making it pound slower, making it over-exert itself, trying to beat against the rock's hard surface, but there's just no use, and you know it too. She doesn't love you. The mere idea can make someone laugh. I think it was during lunch that you heard for the first time, wasn't it? You were with your friends, yeah, the ant-like people, don't worry, it'll come back to you, when someone whispered, oh, I didn't know those two were going out, and you saw them too, holding hands, shoving food into each other's mouths like happy little kids. And she was blushing. It was beautiful, of course, breath taking - and her eyes, I shouldn't even get started, but they were so soft, almost melting with warmth. It's been some time since, but people still whisper. You hear the whispers, too, you just choose to ignore. You keep telling yourself you have a shot, you do, it's not over, no, it can't be, you'll make it, you'll find a way... you love her, right? How come love hurts this much?
You found her that day, crying. Because of him, you think, but you're not too sure. She wiped her tears when she saw you, embarassed, obviously, that you'd caught her. Before you left, she tugged on your sleeve with gentle long fingers, like a little kid again, you thought, and her cheeks were blushing again, but not the good kind of blush, the wrong kind, the kind you get from crying, and she said in the smallest, most broken voice you'd ever heard, don't tell him, okay? You wanted to hold her in her arms, your body was aching for it, she needed shielding, she was hurt, that bastard hurt her, but how could he, how could he do that to this girl, she's that girl, she's perfect, anyone can see that, right? You restrained yourself, nodded shortly, met her eyes. Mistake. Her eyes were what made you decide, right?
I have just one more question. What did it feel like to kiss her? Was it everything you dreamed of? Better? More importantly, did it hurt when she cringe? I bet it hurt more than when she slapped you, her eyes, her amazing eyes, opened wide in terror and astonishment and... yes, there was hate there, too, you know her eyes so well, how could you ever missread them? I bet it hurt more than when that odius guy tracked you down, slammed punches into your body, more than when blood silently poured out of you, almost gleefully, whispering, see what you get, you get hurt, you're hurt, there's no one to fix you... Yes, I should think that when she cringed away from you, something inside you vanished, disappeared, was gone.
You're back with your friends now, you seem to remember who they are more clearly nowadays: they actually like you, so take good care of them, okay? She, the girl you like, or liked, you're not so sure anymore, never speaks to you, sometimes you still think she's scared. She's still with that horrible guy, but you can't do anything about that, you stopped even trying, no point. She's not in your head anymore, it's gotten awfully quiet, hey, chear up, that's a good thing, remember? It might mean she's out of your heart, too. At least there's no more hurting. No more pain in your chest, no more rock on your heart... no more mountain, no more slumping. Feels kind of empty, all of a sudden.
You'll get over her one day, you'll be able to fully enjoy the smell of roses again, you'll appreciate the cookie your friends will get you at lunch, merely shrugging when you talk about paying them back; you'll even see colors, not just see them, but really feel them - they'll seep through your vision and into your heart, and it'll make you happy. You'll get over her, you know, you will, but sometimes it's kind of hard to see the light, isn't it? Like right now, you're crying, but you can also smile a bit.
So humor me.
Let's say there's a girl. Let's say you like her. Let's say... let's say that she was never yours.

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