I wonder what they’re doing right now.
Actually, I don’t. I don’t want to think about it. I won’t think about it.
The world is absolutely silent tonight, except for the clack of the ceiling fan. The heat is almost unbearable so I keep it going at top speed, even though the racket keeps me from falling asleep.
I have never felt so alone.
It doesn’t help in the least bit that I saw him today. He said, “Hey.” I panicked, ran into a door, then turned right around and bolted away in the other direction. I’m sure I’ll look back in a few years and find that moment amusing, but right now it still makes me sick that I even had to look at him. It makes me sick that he thinks he can still look at me and that he thinks I’m all right. I am most definitely not all right.
The way he looks at her shows me beyond a shadow of a doubt that love is real. It’s so clear that it makes me want to cry. (In fact, I have cried about it.) It was so much easier when I didn’t believe in love. Back then, I could pretend there wasn’t a reason I had never found love. Now there’s no denying that something must be wrong with me. I don’t know what, though, and I’m halfway afraid to find out. They tell me I’m cool, they tell me I’m talented, they even tell me I’m amazing and beautiful. But they always end it with, “You’re just not the right one for me.” I smile and nod, but in my heart I’m screaming and crying and wondering where the hell I went wrong. But I digress.
In actuality, I want him not to care at all. I don’t even want to be a stray thought at the back of his mind, a shadow in his memory. I want him to forget about me completely. He’s hurt that I won’t speak to him, and that’s why I wish he didn’t care. Then we could go our merry ways and maybe someday, just someday we might run into each other again and it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe someday I’ll be able to look him in the eye and say, “Hey, how’s it going?” without running into anything or panicking and elbowing my way through a crowd. But that day is not today, nor tomorrow, nor any time in the perceivable future.
As for right now, I am discontent to sit here in my bed, alone, and stare at that spot on the wall I’ve been meaning to paint over. I’m unhappy, and there’s nothing I can really do except ride it out. I have to let the pain bathe me, because I can’t find the use of my limbs anymore to fight it. And when the tears are all dried out of my head, I’ll close my weary eyes and dream of sleep. I won’t think of her lying in the crook of his arm. I won’t think of the kisses he gave her as she fell asleep. I won’t think of why I wasn’t good enough. I’ll just breathe, and wait for the sun to rise on my life.
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