School bell rings as I weave my way through a hallway of unfamiliar faces. A new city, a new school.
Making my way to the first available seat in the back of the room. I notice her. our eyes meet. she looks down at her hands and continues her conversation.
I seem to become friends with all of her friends, but never with her. She sits with her hands crossed.
Her hands. Her hands.
The school year ends. High school begins. Familiar faces call me over to the caffiteria table. There she is. I almost forgot the color of her eyes.
Her eyes. Her eyes.
Glances turn into conversations, conversations turns into phone calls, and phone calls into sleep overs. We gossip about the group and how the ones we’re with are, the ones.
Seasons pass and with each one, unspoken emotions seem to grow stronger. Pizza and movie nights are the highlight of our weekends, but tonight, Tonight theres something different in her eyes.
Palms sweat as shes slips under my sheets.
The beginning of 3 year undefined relationship, tears, and heatbreak. Always trying to hurt the other worse, but never being able to let go.
Graduation relieves us from the constant pain. Young and in love, we took the world head on. Sitting on the floor of our very first apartment i stare at her lips.
God, those lips.
Bandaging ever emotional scar we caused eachother with laughter and i love yous. Games of hiding go seek eacho the hall. Hiden love notes fill the craks. The smell of her face wash lingers as she gets ready for bed. I lay in the room watching her. Ever scrunched face and yawn are just added reasons on what i love about her.
Honeymoon phase of freedom quickly fades. Adulthood sets in and money seems to creep its way up on the priority list. Dedication to work over powered my will to rush home to her. Opposite schedules have us talk less.
My absents became someone else presents. Her smiles and laughs were caused by another. My anxiety rises as she tries to assures me they’re just friends, but i already know too much.
Just friends. Just friends.
Depression ties me to the bed. Anxiety pins me to the floor. Is she coming home tonight? Seems to become the daily question. Constant pain rips these scars open. 6 months since weve talked and time hasnt changed a thing.
Dear, 8th grade me.
Sit somewhere else.