Change
A year ago, I would have believed it. A year ago, he would play with my hair and whisper in my ears and make me feel beautiful. A year ago, we would playfully smack each other’s shoulders and slam each other against walls when our hearts overfilled with romance and desire. A year ago, I would find notes everywhere I went with reminders of his love. A year ago, the static shock between our fingertips would give me a feeling I could write about for years. A year ago, he would show up on my doorstep with a bouquet of sunflowers (my favorite flower, as he knew very well) with a plan for a surprise date. A year ago, he would refuse to let me pay for dinners and still manage to buy me random gifts when my days were simply not up to par. But a lot can change in a year, I am sure. It’s funny how time works.
A year ago, I had someone to vent to. Someone to talk to when I was feeling low. A year ago, I had a lover and a best friend. Six months ago, I did not.
Six months ago, I would have still believed it when he said “I love you.” But I probably shouldn’t have. Six months ago, he would tell me I smelled nice or looked pretty on his way out the door to meet his friends. Six months ago, he would show up on my doorstep with a bouquet of sunflowers, with an apology card attached. Six months ago, I would find notes in places sometimes, once in a while. Six months ago, he would slam me up against walls, to ask me why I’ve been so closed off to him all night. Six months ago, we wouldn’t have to worry about who’s paying for dinner, considering how seldom it happened.
I can’t say that it’s all his fault, for I am partly at fault for letting it progress like this. Six months can be a long time. Some people even treat it like an anniversary, so it must be at least a little while. Six months ago, I would have believed it. But now, I don’t.
I paced back and forth at the gate. I had been waiting twenty minutes for Alex to show up. My fingers tingled and my knees shook the entire time I had been waiting. I checked my phone often. I hoped he hadn’t bailed on me.
I heard his footsteps from behind me at that point. He squeezed through the side of the gate and met me face-to-face. He waited for me to start, but it was hard for me to speak. It’s easy to think about the bad things. It’s easy to think about the times he’s yelled at you, the times he’s cursed you for doing something completely reasonable, the times he’s left you crying all night while he was out with his friends or playing a game all night, completely unaffected by it. Then he forgets in the morning and doesn’t even ask how your night was. It’s easy to think about how you waited up for him until your eyelids were heavier than the Earth itself, only to be ignored for something trivial. It’s easy to think about how little he cared when you went to him depressed and he shoved it off as another one of your “moods.” Those are easy to think about.
But once your mind betrays you and lets in those good memories, as far in the past as they may be, that’s hard. Then it suddenly doesn’t matter how many times he’s left you crying, because all you can think of is that first day you saw his enlightening smile, or that time he asked you to dance in the morning sun when you weren’t even dressed yet. Your mind brings you back to that one love letter you received in the mail without warning, or the time you baked cookies together around Christmas time and both ate half of the dough.
I took a deep breath and gulped down my thoughts.
“Thanks for coming.” I managed to stay.
“You said it was important.” He replied. Even through my mind’s betrayal, I know that even a bystander who was not involved would know we had a broken relationship. His eyes were vacant of emotion and I was clearly holding back tears.
“Yes, it is. It’s important.” I vaguely said.
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s about us.” I sighed, and he did too. I saw him take a gulp. No matter how bad things turn out to be…nobody ever wants to deal with this.
“I figured.” He said.
“I don’t think we should…keep trying…anymore.” My voice was breaking. My head felt like it weighed a ton. He gave me a saddened smile and chuckled. I smiled back, but it was a puzzled smile.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“That you said we shouldn’t keep trying anymore.” He explained. “As if we’re trying at all.” He stopped laughing, and I looked down. He was right, and we both knew it. We stopped making an effort a long time ago.
“We shouldn’t be together anymore.” I forced out. It surprised me that I was even able to say it, and I felt weak and empty the moment it came out. I have to be realistic to myself. Things have turned for the worst, and we just cannot function together. But that doesn’t mean my feelings for him have diminished. His have for me, that part is certain. But part of me still loved him, and so it still hurt to leave.
“I know.” He said.
“Part of me still loves you…but I just can’t anymore.” I said through tears. I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.
“Part of me still wants to make this work, but I just don’t love you anymore.” He replied. I tried not to weep as he said this. It was very difficult, but in the end, I was able to. I wiped away the tears that had forced themselves out of me already, and I did not let another one escape.
“So I guess this is goodbye.” I said after a few minutes of silence. He took a couple steps forward until his forehead was resting against mine. He leaned in and kissed me, and I could taste the finality on his lips.
“I suppose it is.” He replied, looking into my eyes.
“Goodbye, Alex.” I said.
“Goodbye Raven.” That was the last he said to me before turning and walking away. I waited for him to be completely gone before falling to the ground and letting myself break down. I told myself I did the right thing, despite what my heart is feeling, but it was hard to convince myself. I reminded myself of the bad times in our relationship, and how this was inevitable. I reminded myself of what we both agreed on just now…that even though I love him, I can’t deal with the relationship; and even though he wants the relationship, he doesn’t love me.
Sometimes love can fade just as fast as happiness can.
-xLLSx-
(Source: lubitalovestories, via justherguy)
Memory
“Hey, you’ve reached Richard. I can’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll call you back!” I instinctively hung up the phone after the beep sounded. I called you three times tonight, which is three times less than last night, and God only knows how many less than the night before that. I can’t stop calling. I can’t stop hearing that voicemail and desperately wanting to leave a message, but never bringing myself too. These past few nights, my life has repeated. I never fail to feel that bubbling pain in my throat, that regret in the bottom of my heart. I never fail to stir up the same old memories.
Do you remember, my dear? Do you remember that day we decided to stay inside? We laid in bed all day and talked through while the sun blessed us with its warmth through the cracks in your window. We fantasized of running away together, leaving our teenage years and high school dramatics behind. I remember unbuttoning your pale white polo shirt, and you gave me a smirk that I will never forget. A look that has been imprinted in my mind ever since you flashed me it. A look of wanting and desire. You tore off your shirt and gently took hold of my hair. You lingered your lips on my neck and I sat still, stunned. As I was about to mutter the words, “Wait, I’m not ready.” You told me a joke that made me laugh out loud. You pulled back to look at me and I saw you were laughing as well. Your wide smile exposing your bright white teeth, you held my face until our laughter faded to silence. I bit my lip as you murmured your first “I love you” to me.
“Casey, I love you.” You said. I could barely return it before pressing my euphoric lips to yours. I felt your smile against mine.
A few times, we have laughed together. Our boisterous roars have been heard through bedroom walls and school halls, as well as theaters and lonely diners. Late nights laying in bed or passing notes in a boring classroom, we would chuckle and bellow until our ribs would clam up. Sometimes, it would get us into trouble, especially when it was during school. We shared one class together, a mathematics class. The teacher was old and mundane, droning on and on of subjects we had no interest in. We scribbled on torn pieces of lined paper, cheesy pick-up lines and jokes that only we would understand. Sometimes she would yell, sometimes she would threaten, and one time she even read our notes aloud. But we didn’t mind, did we? We looked at each other red in the face and gave each other a matching, confident smile. One day, however, she was fed up with our antics and sent us to the principal’s office. We sat in an empty hall on back-breaking chairs, awaiting our names to be called. Boy, did we laugh then. We had to muffle our chuckles and forcefully hold our hands over our mouths, as we sat outside the office, staring at each other and laughing together. I first noticed your eyes that day, your forest green eyes. Like a separate world of elegant moss, they were. I almost couldn’t laugh when staring at them for so long, until you pulled me into another inside joke.
It certainly was not the last time I had noticed them. I made quite the habit of sneaking out to see you, my love. I just couldn’t stay away. My parents told me I wasn’t in love, I was only sixteen and it couldn’t be. They were wrong, and we both knew it. So I snuck out to pursue that knowledge, and there I was that one hot summer night. It was a quarter to midnight and we just finished playing a round of video games, playfully arguing and trash talking each other’s strategies. We carelessly threw our controllers under your bed, and I walked into the corner of your room to dig through your closet.
“What are you doing?” You asked, giggling uncontrollably and rolling your eyes. I didn’t answer you and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. I pulled out a plain white t-shirt of yours.
“I was looking for this.” I vaguely explained, no longer hiding my smile. I flashed a wide and suggestive grin at you.
“Why?” You asked, returning my grin but remaining confused.
“Because,” I began. “I need something to change into.” I saw your smile fade as I slowly lifted my dress over my head. I followed by unclipping my bra and slipping off my silk underwear, and quickly throwing your t-shirt over my exposed body. You stared at me attentively, not looking away for a second. I tip-toed over to the bed and climbed onto your lap. I ran my fingers through your soft hair, staring into your eyes. Neither of us said a word as I kissed you softly. The night lasted forever.
After the first night we made love, our level of intimacy was greatly increased, and we took every chance we were given to bask in our romance, even outdoors in the dampened night. We took a stroll to our favorite nearby park after the sun had gone to rest, our shoes squeaking on the wet ground from the early rain. Your hand was laced in mine, and we barely said anything that night. We sat on a bench together, your fingers tracing my naked collarbone up to the pink of my cheeks. Your lips inches from mine, I felt I could smile if only I could move. But you froze me still, moving me only when you wanted to. You whispered that you loved me for the second time. This time, I returned it.
Our relationship was filled with perfect nights and smiles aimed toward only each other, except for one night. We got into one fight, on a day I had snuck out to spend the night in your house. It was over something petty, but boy, do you have a temper at times. You yelled at me and I yelled back until I was brought to tears. I ran from you and locked myself in the bathroom, using the inside of my arms to soak up my tears. You knocked on the door a couple times, trying to get me to come out, but then gave up after I refused, or so I thought. A few minutes later, a folded up piece of paper slid through the crack underneath the door. I wiped away the wetness from my eyes and slowly unfolded it.
Casey, It read. Write back if you love me still.
A sharpie marker slowly rolled through the crack shortly after. I scribbled on the note that I indeed still loved you, and no amount of fighting will change that. A short moment went by and the note was returned.
I’m sorry. It said. That was all it said, but that was enough for me. I stood up and slowly opened the door to see you standing there in front of me with soft, sorrowful eyes. I said nothing, and neither did you. I just wrapped my arms around you and closed my eyes. We stayed like that for a little while, and soon our usual happiness rose up inside us again. I smiled and kissed your shoulder, and your arms around me grew tighter as I felt you smile back.
The last time I saw you was on our anniversary.
You took me to our special bench at our park. We spent our day together there, celebrating our first year together with cuddling on a park bench, feeding the seagulls, and having a picnic while watching the waves of the lake. We muttered our “I love you”s and gave each other handmade gifts to show our affection. I gave you a homemade card with a poem written inside, and you gave me a notebook full of love letters. I was speechless when I first opened it and read your elegant words.
“I started writing to you within the first months we were together.” You said. “I don’t really know why. I just had so much to say to you.”
I just looked at you like you were made of gold. I had no idea what to say. I hoped that my eyes showed my gratitude enough, but I’m sure they were short. I gave you a long kiss on your soft lips, hoping that maybe that would show you what my eyes couldn’t.
My memories were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in!” I yelled. My mother barged in and began to tell me to come downstairs for dinner, and then stopped mid-sentence when she noticed the telephone in my hand.
“Casey, what did I tell you about that? Stop calling him! It’s unhealthy!” She yelled. She walked over to me and grabbed the phone out of my hands.
“And throw out that damn newspaper! It’s only making you even worse!” She slammed the door as she left my room. I looked down at the newspaper clipping that was pinned underneath my elbow as I let out a couple tears.
“Young teen dies in car accident.” It read, underneath a photo of two boys. “Richard, 16, left, was killed on impact while his father Jacob, 43, right, survived with some serious injuries.”
The newspaper and the phone were all I had left of you.
One
My toes sunken in drenched sand, the water washed over me up to my thighs as my ankles entangled themselves with every curve of his legs. My dry hands caressed his sandy hair as his eyes stayed shut to enjoy every moment. The waves grew longer and stronger, dampening more parts of our bodies. The sun was nearly gone, creating a soft, blue glow over the shore. The heat hugged us and the sand blessed us. The ocean warned us before crashing over us with excitement. Everything about the beach was within us.
The touch of our lips and the brushing of our skin. The swift movement of our hands and the desperate breaths from our gasps. The sea and the sand watched as we refused to tear apart. Our fingertips became friends, our waists were family and our lips were close lovers.
Nature watched as we became one.
-xLLSx-
(Source: tonsofphotographyxox, via tayyyyraeeee)
Only A Smile
“When will I see you again?” She asked. He placed his arms around her waist. Their foreheads grazed each other as he met her chocolate eyes. He lightly gave her a kiss on the tip of her nose, then pressed his lips together and looked away.
“I don’t know.” he replied. He met her gaze again, her uneasy gaze.
“That’s not good enough for me.” Her eyes overflowed and he dried her cheeks with his thumbs. He silenced her weeping.
“How can I be 1,000 miles away from you unknowing of when you’ll come back?” She said through a broken voice.
“Wherever I am, I’m only a smile away.” He drifted his lips to her forehead and rested them there. He tightened his grip on her back. She slid her hands up to his chest and played with the buttons on his shirt. She closed her eyes. She felt his lips pressed against her forehead, smelled his cologne, shivered at the touch of his hands.
“I’ll never forget you.” She whispered. He looked at her again, eyes wide. He caressed her cheek with his hand.
“I’ll never give you the chance.” He leaned down and kissed her. He dragged it out for a while, tasting her lips like he hadn’t in years, or like he wouldn’t again. Her eyes overflowed again as she took in as much of him as she could. He pulled away and rested his forehead on hers again. He noticed she was crying, but he smiled.
“Goodbye, my love.” He ran his fingers through her hair one last time, and then she could no longer feel his touch. She already felt herself forgetting things as she was left alone with the waves. His touch, his kiss. She longed for it one more time. She fell to her knees on the sand. Tears were streaming down her face, but she made not a single weeping sound. She didn’t bury her face in her hands. She didn’t struggle.
She smiled. She smiled, and remembered his kiss, his touch, his scent. She remembered everything as if she was still right next to him, through a smile.
-xLLSx-
(via reckless-lovee)
Numb
It was just another day. The sun rose, but it barely brightened the sky. The light coming through my window was bleak and colorless. My room was grey, just like any other day. It was just as hard to pull myself out of bed as it was yesterday, and the day before that. My pillow was damp. I was crying in my sleep again, and by the crazy arrangement of my sheets, I didn’t sit still either. I’ve been having nightmares like this for months now. It stopped worrying my friends and family a while ago. They’ve come to accept it like I have, but they didn’t go through what I had to accept it.
I crave those five days now. Every day, I wait. I go through a lackluster day of soulless existing just to experience those five days of bliss. Every day is another day closer, but it feels so much longer. I’m closer now, I know it. But I still have about five more months of waiting. Five more months of being numb.
I start my days with criticizing my appearance in the mirror. The bags under my eyes. The frizzy fly-aways on my hair. My sunken skin. I get uglier every day without him, I think to myself. It scares me sometimes. A lot of times, actually. When he finally comes back, he’ll be stronger, happier, and I’ll have turned into an old maid at only twenty-five. That is, if he actually comes back when I turn twenty-five. What if they want him to stay longer? Or worse. What if they ask for volunteers to stay longer, and he wants to? Four more years, a letter per year. How would I be able to survive that? I don’t think I would.
These days, I find it hard to even get dressed. When I do, it’s simple. Jeans and a t-shirt, or a tank top with pajama pants. I spend a lot of time on the computer, running a blog to write down every depressing feeling I have to deal with throughout the day. Sometimes people ask me questions. “How do you deal with it?” “How do you spend years without the one you love?” I don’t know how to answer them anymore. I used to just say something to inspire them, “It’s not hard when you know your love for someone can never break, no matter what you go through.” I still believe that, but I find it hard to instill that belief into others nowadays.
While sitting on my bed with my laptop as a companion, I kept staring at that top drawer of my dresser, our dresser. In our room. It saddens me that I’ve gotten out of the habit of referring to things as ours. It’s been over two years, it’s understandable by now. But it kills me. Everything that reminds me of us, or the fact that I still have about a year and a half longer to wait kills me on the inside. It’s not easy to hide, either. Everyone can see it, and they’re thankfully considerate. They put the least amount of emphasis on Austin as possible. It’s no use, though. I think about him all the time. I can never stop. Every night I read the three letters he’s sent me again. He wrote one on the plane when he was first going to his destination because he knew he’d only be able to write one each year after that. I was always afraid he’d get too tired, and one letter would read, I found someone else or I can’t do this with you anymore, I’m sorry. Luckily, they haven’t. They were always sweet, enriching. I kept them in the top drawer of our dresser underneath some unmentionables, for easy access but also so people wouldn’t stumble upon them (not that I really had company over anymore). I left the letters in the envelopes. I treasured the doodles he had scribbled across the back of each one.
Each drawing represented something inside the letter. The first one had a drawing of the back half of an airplane and a cloud covering the front. The window right before the last had a heart inside of it. His seat was in that row. He wrote about how much he would miss me, how he knew we could make it but also how he was still petrified of going four years without me. It’s funny that in my letter back to him, I was the one to calm him down. It’s hard to believe now. Now I’m the one in need of reassurance all the time. On the second envelope was a drawing of a woman standing in a field with a horse in the background. The wind was blowing her skirt, but she didn’t have a face. He replaced it with a heart. In his letter he told me a story about how when driving to work in the early morning, he passed a ranch each day. A couple days before he wrote the letter, he passed the ranch again in the morning only to see a woman standing in the field away from the barn. She looked upset, and she wore a long brown skirt, like the one I had worn on our third date. He said she looked like me, and the skirt reminded him of me. He almost crashed his car when he saw her. He never saw her again after that. On the third envelope, the last letter I received from him, he wrote the alphabet in cursive, with a heart attached at the end. In the letter, he explained that he saw a diner called “The Alphacrest Diner” and the neon title was in cursive. On the same road, he spotted a motel called “Bobby’s Motel”, with the lettering also in cursive. Every place on that road had their signs written in cursive. When he got to the end of the road, he saw the sign for the street read “Script st.” He chuckled at it, and then remembered when I wrote him love letters before we moved in together. You have the most beautiful cursive handwriting. I remember thinking about it every time I read your letters. It makes me wonder what you think of when you read mine, he wrote. In every drawing was a heart. The heart represented him or myself.
I felt the urge to go through that drawer and read his letters again, at 2:00 in the afternoon. I gave myself a rule only a couple weeks after Austin left; that I wouldn’t torture myself. While I mostly break that rule practically every day, I decided that reading his letters more than once a day would be torturing myself a little too much. So I only read them at night. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why my pillow is always wet in the morning.
I decided to emerge from my bedroom in an effort to dissipate my urges to read those letters. I slipped on a pair of bootcut jeans and a loose t-shirt over my head. I don’t know what to do with myself most of the time. I keep myself hopeful most of the day until around 5:00pm, when the mail comes. I always curse the system for making it come so late, mostly because my risen hopes have a hard downfall in the evening. The fact was that right now, I had to do something that would take up three hours but also have enough productivity to keep my mind off of Austin’s letters for a while. It would be great if I didn’t think of Austin at all for those three hours, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
I started dialing numbers on my house phone. I was calling my best friend, Jenny, who I’ve barely spoken to all week. Like I said before, it’s hard for me to do anything without Austin, so I haven’t hung out with her in a while. She sounded excited when I got her on the other line. I explained to her that I needed something to do for a couple hours and that I was driving myself insane. She knew what I was talking about. She suggested she come over and we could bake something together. I agreed. I haven’t baked anything since Austin was home.
She showed up at my door about twenty minutes later with a recipe in hand. She wore her brightest smile, which matched her cute red dress. Jenny liked to dress up for any occasion possible. We spent most of the day in the kitchen mixing and measuring, and at one point exploding confectioner’s sugar all over my counter. We laughed a lot too. The hangout did the job I wanted it to do; I barely thought about Austin’s letters. I still thought about Austin, though. I wished he was there. There was a sweet aroma of mint escaping from the oven after we placed the pans inside, and Austin had a real sweet tooth for mint. While waiting for the muffins to be done, we cleaned up our mess. We were silent until Jenny popped a question on me.
“So, how have you been?” She asked.
“Fine.” I said without looking at her. I focused on scrubbing some chocolate out of one of the cracks in my counter…our counter.
“Lucy…” She said. I started scrubbing harder, determined to get every piece of chocolate out of that awful tiny crack. I began scrubbing so hard I felt my knuckles getting white. Jenny put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me. I hadn’t realized I was crying, and I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands.
“I know you’re still having a hard time without him, but we miss you. All of the girls miss hanging out with you.” She said to me. I just looked down and started scrubbing again.
“I’m doing fine. Only five months left.” I replied. Jenny didn’t ask me much after that. Our mint chocolate chip muffins were ready about ten minutes later anyway, right when Jenny had to leave to go to work. I gave her a few to take with her and gave her a friendly hug goodbye. I went back in the kitchen to put the muffins away in the fridge and finish cleaning the counter, but I couldn’t bear it. I kept feeling the warmness of my tears floating down my cheeks, and constantly wiping them away wasn’t doing any good. I tossed the washcloth into the corner of the counter, carelessly placed the muffins on the table, and swiftly made my way to the front of the house, where I forcefully opened the screen door and collapsed onto the stoop, burying my face in my knees. I cried for a long time. A small dark stain formed on the knees of my jeans eventually. The inside of my hands froze from being wet in the cold. I lifted my face out of its safe nest, and watched the horizon. The sun was setting behind a long string of trees, creating an orange and pink glow above them, a sight I would normally categorize as beautiful. But I barely noticed. It was getting cold. I realized I forgot my jacket, and I could see my breath. I slowly got to my feet and brushed off the rocks from my pants. As I turned to go back inside, I heard something from a short distance away.
“Lucy! Wait!” It was a man’s voice. I sighed and turned around.
“What is it, Andy?” Andy was our mailman. We had always been somewhat of friends, and he was very sympathetic toward me when he found out that Austin’s job had moved him far away from me, for such a long time. He always offered a helping hand, and shared my excitement when he handed me one of Austin’s letters.
“You might not want to go inside yet.” He said, smiling. I lost my breath when he handed me a bright envelope with just a simple drawing of two hearts attached to each other on the back. I smiled the widest smile I could manage. This letter was five months early. I could barely contain myself. Andy smiled at me before returning to his truck, and I tore open the seal with shaking hands. I clumsily opened the folded paper, and felt my smile slowly die. My heart fell to my feet, as I read those words over and over in my head.
It’s over.
It’s over. I dropped the letter, the envelope, and tears started stumbling out of my eyes like waterfalls. Right when I was about to collapse onto the ground in horror, I felt a hand on my shoulder and another on my waist to support me from falling.
“Thank you, Andy.” I muttered through my sorrows. I turned my shuddering legs to face him, but I was caught by surprise when I was met with a pair of bright green eyes, trimmed black hair, and a smile wider than the Earth.
“It’s over, Lucy. I quit the job.” I heard his smooth voice whisper the words.
“Austin…” I mouthed. My voice wouldn’t work, and it didn’t need to. He encased my body with his arms and pulled me in for a kiss I’ve been waiting for since the day he left. I didn’t want to stop, not ever. But I did anyway, because I needed to know…
“Austin, why?” I stared into his eyes. They looked truly amazing against the beautiful sunset landscape, standing on our stoop.
“I was hoping you’d ask that.” His smile grew wider. “I figured this was more important.” He said, kneeling before me with a bright ring in between his fingers.
It seemed like only a few seconds ago, I was repeating the exact actions I was doing in this moment. I pressed my palm over my mouth as my tears flowed over the hills of my fingers. My knees grew weak. He spoke to me in the softest of tones the sweetest words my ears have ever had the pleasure of listening to, but I didn’t hear them then. I only knew what they were because he later repeated them to me. In that moment, I heard nothing but the breathtaking sound of the wind blowing, the happiness of leaves rustling on tree branches. Everything that was so pale and dull to me in my numbness was bright and beautiful in this moment. I could barely say the word.
“Yes.” The moment ended with tight squeezing, fumbling lips, traveling hands, and gasping breaths that choked out words of reassurance. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t believe it’s finally over.
Through my short-lived teenage romances or my years of waiting for my unknown future husband, I would have never guessed the words it’s over would mean a beginning, and not an end.
-xLLSx-
(Source: vintageair)
Mary
It hit me like a knife. The words pierced my skin and tore at my insides. Every syllable bled out my heart. I don’t understand how they could just roll off the tongue for them, his own parents. They must be even more worse off than I am, but I envied them for keeping their composure so well. I was feeling weak in the knees, and my head started to hurt. I didn’t know where I was anymore. All I could think of was how it was too late.
“Hello, is this Mary?” I heard through the receiver.
“Yes.”
“Hello, my name is Jack. I’m Andy’s father.” It was too late to tell him anything. Too late to even leave a note by his locker.
“Last night, Andy went out drinking with some friends. One of his friends got too drunk…and decided he was still sober enough to drive all of them home…and…well…they hit a tree…” I always thought that I still had a couple months, and it would only be too late if I had waited until he graduated and went to college. If only I had known how much of a blessing that would be.
“Andy didn’t make it.” Now it really is too late. I never said much to that beautiful boy, but I knew so much about him. I knew he had a slight silver lining around his icy blue eyes. I knew his long, semi-curly brown hair turned blondish in the summer time. I knew he chewed on his pen caps when class got really boring. I knew he was an artist, because his doodles on the back of his tests were always so detailed. I knew a lot about him, but I never told him. We’ve only had three different encounters with each other.
“Hey, do you get this?” Our first encounter was when I used a desperate attempt at getting his attention. I mostly admired from afar until that day, nearly a year ago. I was leaning over his desk, my finger pressed on a triangle lined with numbers. I was never good at trigonometry, and I used this weakness to my advantage. But he didn’t do anything. He just stared at me, probably thinking I was weird for asking. I had never spoke a word to him before that, so I don’t really blame him. After quite a while of just staring, he finally said something that broke my heart.
“No.” That was all he said. Then he pressed his lips, and looked back down at his worksheet. I glanced down at it and saw all of it was completely finished. He did get it, he just didn’t want to talk to me.
“How did you know to call me?” I said when I was able to catch my breath. On the verge of tears, I tried my best to keep my voice sturdy. I wasn’t doing very well, but I imagine he was expecting me to cry.
“I think you should come over and see why for yourself.” Jack said. He peaked my curiosity. He gave me the address and we hung up after saying goodbye, but I didn’t leave right away. I dropped the phone, and collapsed on the kitchen floor first. It wasn’t long before there was a clear puddle on the linoleum, dripping from my soaked palms as I buried my face even deeper in them. I thought of my second encounter with Andy, our most confusing encounter. At least, for me.
It was 5 months after our first encounter. I spent the last couple months of the last school year pretending not to look in his direction, pretending not to bump into him in the hallway almost once a week, pretending I walked with my friend to her locker just to talk to her and not because it happened to be right next to his. Then I spent the summer, the very long summer, trying my best to ignore my feelings. When I felt the pain of seeing him the last day of school and realized I had to go a couple months without making excuses…I knew I had a real crush going on inside of me. I spent the summer trying to get over it, because it was only a crush and crushes aren’t very strong. Nonetheless, our senior year began, and our second encounter happened only a couple weeks into it.
It was the night of another one of Lola’s parties. Lola was one of the most popular girls in our high school. Everyone was invited to her parties, and everyone got plastered - except me. I was a good girl. I never touched alcohol if I could avoid it. Plus, I never wanted to risk driving afterward. I don’t know what gave me the impulse to go to one of her parties. None of my friends ever go there, and it’s mostly a bunch of drunk guys trying to get me to go home with them and really loud music. Maybe I wanted to try drinking for a night. Or maybe I was hoping Andy would be there, because that’s what I ended up finding out.
I saw him leaning against the wooden kitchen counter, one arm at his side and the other holding a beer. He was by himself, staring at the ground. He looked upset. There were a lot of things I didn’t understand that night, and one of them was what came over me to approach him near that counter.
“Hey, Andy, is it?” I said. His face automatically lit up when he saw me and he put his beer on the counter.
“Mary!” He yelled. He kind of caught me off guard. I did nothing but stand there like a board and slightly nod and smile.
“You were in my junior math class!” He exclaimed, pointing at me now. I had never seen this side of him before, and I repeated my previous timid movement.
“Oh man! I can’t believe you’re here!” He yelled again, but this time, he hugged me. He hugged me very tightly, and it came to such a surprise that I didn’t hug back. I regretted it so much later. I had pictured it in my head a million times, and I never thought it would happen this way. When his face was close to mine, I could smell the alcohol on his breath, so I could tell he was really drunk.
We spent a lot of time together that night. When everyone else was dancing to some rapper, we were sitting on the couch just talking. I found out that Andy was a happy drunk, so that’s why he was so enthusiastic to see me despite that he’s never really met me. I found out a lot of other things too. As it turns out, he also happens to be one of those drunks that spill out all of their secrets for no apparent reason. We were talking about movies when he told me that he was depressed after finding out his girlfriend had cheated on him. That’s why he drank so heavily the rest of the night.
“She was the whole reason I came to this dumb party, and then I see her tongue down some other guy’s throat.” He took another swig of the third beer I had seen him chug down.
“I’m really sorry, Andy.” I tried to be sympathetic, but I smiled at the idea of him being single. He took another swig.
“It’s alright, man. I kind of was thinking of breaking up with her anyway, you know? I kinda fell for somebody else.”
“Really? Who?”
“Ahh, you wouldn’t know her. She’s a real beaut though, I’ll tell you that.” We sat there in silence a few moments after that. I was disappointed, but I knew he had no interest in me anyway. And I definitely knew he wouldn’t refer to me as a “beaut.” I had stringy red hair, ugly freckles, and boring brown eyes. I was far from beautiful.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asked me after the silence started to get awkward.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to drive home.” He explained.
“Sure. Of course.” We left the house without a single person noticing. Andy left his beer on the coffee table. I opened the door to the passenger seat in my car for him, but he declined and said he preferred the back. But when I opened the door to the backseat, he pushed me in instead. He climbed in after me, and I couldn’t stop laughing.
“What’s so funny?” He questioned.
“Nothing.” I said after catching my breath. “I’m just happy.”
“I am too, Mary.” He replied. My laughing had died, and I saw his eyelids drift lower. His face started slowly moving toward mine, and I suddenly didn’t know what to do. My heart started racing. I felt cold. I started to close my eyes, right as Andy’s face was crushed into the crevice of my neck. He had passed out. I let out a deep sigh and rolled my eyes at my falsely risen hopes. I let him sleep in the backseat when I drove him home.
After that night, I knew two things. One; I didn’t get over my crush during the summer. Two; It wasn’t really a crush at all - I was in love with Andy.
I never would have guessed that the next time I would be driving to his house would be after his death. It was hard to pay attention to the road, and I swerved several times enough to hear the sound of a high-pitched horn. I eventually had to pull over, to have yet another breakdown. I clutched the wheel and whispered to myself, why didn’t I just tell you. Andy, I love you.
My third and final encounter with Andy was just a few months ago, and I was doing the same thing. I was crying over him. I saw him in school, and I let my feelings get the best of me. I let my mind race to the things I wish we could do together, and how much I wanted him to be mine, and I knew my heart couldn’t take that. I ran away from him and to the corner of the hallway, where I fell to my knees and started crying. That’s when I felt a shadow over me.
“Mary?” I looked up, and I saw Andy’s sympathetic face looking down on mine. He knelt down next to me and laid a hand on my knee. I tried very hard not to cry even more.
“You don’t have to stay here.” I was able to say through my whimpering.
“What happened?” He asked. He seemed sincere. I trusted him.
“I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.” I started crying again. It was hard to hold the tears back when he was sitting right there, reminding me of what I couldn’t have.
“Who is it?”
“That’s not important. He just isn’t mine and he never will be.” He watched me cry for a few moments, unable to find something to get me to calm down. I wanted to scream in his face that he’s a coward and a jerk. I wanted to tell him how much pain he’s put me through for the past year and a half. Yet, at the same time, I only wanted to hug him again. I’ve only ever felt it once, and it was half a year ago. I was starting to forget what it felt like, and that frightened me.
“You know, I know what you’re going through.” He said. I just looked at him.
“I’ve been in love with the same girl for nearly a year now and I know I’ll never have her. No matter how hard I try, she doesn’t really notice me.”
“Is this the same girl you told me about at the party?”
“Yeah. Same one.” The girl that I “wouldn’t know.” The “beaut.” The girl I was jealous of the most.
“I’m sorry.” I said. He didn’t look at me. He just stared at the floor tiles and pressed his lips together.
“I hope you feel better.” He said, coldly. then he left. That was my last encounter with him.
When I finally arrived to Andy’s house, my eyes were dry. I don’t think I could’ve cried again if I wanted to. Andy had a nice house. It was small and cute, just like I’d imagined it to be. There were sunflowers outlining the front of it, and a brick stoop leading to the front door. I knocked using a big golden handle in the center of the door.
“You must be Mary. I’m Jack.” A man with grey hair answered the door. He was dressed professional. He let me into the house and I took in my surroundings for only a moment before he led me up the stairs. He opened the door to Andy’s room. A twin bed was in the center next to a computer desk with a closed laptop sitting in the middle of it. The chair was knocked over. His bookcase was completely packed with everything from Shakespeare to sportswriters. His walls were littered with posters of Jonathon Toews, Eli Manning, Steven Stamkos, and some other athletes I didn’t recognize. On his bed, there was a cd case.
“I’ll leave you alone. Take your time.” Jack said, and closed the door. I sat down on the bed and looked inside the cd case. There was a handmade booklet inside. I wrote it all for her it said, in Andy’s handwriting. The cd was silver with the words “For Her” written across it in sharpie. I placed it into the boombox on the floor and listened to what sounded like the strumming of an acoustic guitar. That’s when I noticed one sitting on a stand in the corner of the room. I flipped through the booklet only to see that most of it was vacant, save for the very last one which had all the titles of the songs on it. There were only five. The first one was called ”First Glance.” It was about looking at a girl from afar but never saying hi. I skipped past it, feeling my heart start to hurt again. The second one was called “Trigonometry.” I froze when I read the name, and listened to the song.
She asked me to solve a problem today
But I can’t proudly say I was there
Her diamond eyes broke my voice
And I couldn’t say nothing but “no”
I quickly skipped to the next song, convincing myself it was only a coincidence. The next one was titled “So Close.”
Tonight was the night I almost told her
And I could’ve been so straight forward
But I didn’t know what to do
I just couldn’t say “baby, it’s you.”
My eyes were able to muster up some moisture as I skipped to the next song. It was titled “Angel.”
Please don’t cry, my angel
It’s your smile that keeps me warm at night
Please don’t cry, my angel
It’s your smile that makes me learn to fly
I buried my face in my hands. I was too scared to look at the title of the next song. I had to force myself to read it, telling myself it could all just be a simple coincidence. The last song was titled, simply, “Mary.” I knew I would regret it, but I began to play the last song.
Oh, Mary, Mary, Mary
You’re the one I want to marry
You’ve got big brown eyes and beauty too
I just want to say that I love you.
Those last lines rang in my head millions of times before I knew what they meant. I love you. I love you. I love you. He had loved me all along. Every time I thought he was ignoring me, he wasn’t. Every time I thought he was being cold, he was just being shy. The girl he was talking about was me. He’s been in love with me for a year. He’s been in love with me all along, as I have been in love with him.
…But now, it’s too late.
-xLLSx-
(Source: inhalekidcudi, via reckless-lovee)
Melted Chocolate
He cleared his throat, and looked at her hard, but avoided her eyes. He massaged his chin with the roughness of his fingertips. His watering eyes scanned the plain white ceiling, looking for an answer inside the cracks and chipped paint in the corners. He met her eyes at last.
“Wh…what did you call it?” He asked.
“A lesbian, Dad. I’m a lesbian.” She replied. She played with her fingertips and took a deep breath. Tara knew that her father would take this hard. He wasn’t the religious type, but he wasn’t liberal either. She dreaded telling him, but things with Samantha had gotten serious. It was hard to continue lying to him with the things she felt and constantly thought about.
He looked down at the table, holding back the threatening water in his eyes.
“My daughter’s a lesbian.” He muttered under his breath, but Tara had heard it. It didn’t surprise her.
“It’s not that bad, Dad.” She said, trying to comfort him.
“Not that bad?!” He yelled, slamming his fist on the table. The liquid in his eyes began spilling over, but his eyes only showed rage, not sorrow.
“I raised a whore!” he screamed.
“I’m not a whore, Daddy…I just don’t like boys.” Tara said, her voice shaking. He got up from the table, and threw the chair on the ground.
“Dad…wait!” She shouted as he made his way toward the vacant doorway. He stopped in his tracks when he heard her yell. He whipped himself around and planted his right palm on the table, leaning close to her.
“Get out of my house.” He muttered. His left hand pointed toward the door. Tara’s eyes started to water too, now. She didn’t reply.
“I said get out!” He screamed again. Tara shuddered, then ran out the door crying. Her father shut the door behind her.
Barefoot, Tara ran down the street until she found a rocky, dirt path that led into the backwoods. She trudged her bruised feet through the path until she was met with a thin, brunette woman sitting in the dirt, drawing shapes into the ground with a broken twig. She wore a haltered purple dress with a yellow ribbon tied around the middle, and her matching violet eyes met with Tara’s emerald ones. The girl swallowed.
“I take it it didn’t go well.” She said, softly.
“No.” Tara replied, desperately trying to keep her composure. She failed. Her voice shook as she said the word, and she was bawling within seconds. Samantha got up and wrapped her arms around Tara’s waist.
It’s okay. She whispered, over and over again in Tara’s ear. It’s going to be okay.
They stayed like that for a while. Tara lifted her head from Samantha’s soaking shoulder, and ran her fingers through her brown waves. She smiled as she looked into her eyes.
“I’m going to miss you.” She said. Samantha’s brow twitched. She forcefully pulled Tara’s hand out of her hair.
“No.” She said. “No. You promised this wouldn’t be the end of us.”
“He’s my father…”
“No.” Tara looked down, but only long enough for Samantha to pull her head up to face her again. She smiled, hoping Tara would return it. She did.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” Samantha said. Tara’s smile grew wider.
“I know.” She replied. They smiled in silence for a minute.
“It’s your turn to pick where we go.” Tara reminded.
“I know. I’ve already chosen it.” Samantha said.
“Where, then?”
“The beach.”
——
Tara stuck her toes in the sand, playing with the feeling it gave them. She flung her head back and gazed at the sun through her tinted glasses. She exhaled in sync with the waves crashing onto the wet sand. She heard a pair of sandals slide next to her.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to stop somewhere on the way.”
“You’re never late.” Tara didn’t look at Samantha. She locked her gaze on the sun.
“Yeah, but it was important.”
“What’s so important? You’re never late.” Tara snapped. Samantha looked down at the paper bag in her hand. She let the silence linger for a moment before saying something again.
“I bought you some chocolate.” She hopefully said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Tara, stop.” Tara looked down and played with her fingertips. It was a nervous habit of hers, anytime she was scared of a reaction.
“What if it isn’t worth it?” She asked. Samantha’s hands went to Tara’s eyes before they could overflow with tears again. She smiled, and Tara returned it. Tara always told Samantha that she had a contagious smile.
“I want to ask you some things.” Samantha said. Tara took a deep breath and told her okay.
“Three questions.” Tara gave her the okay again.
“Question one: Do you love me? Truly and undoubtedly? With the marrow of your bones?” Tara chuckled.
“That’s more than one question…but yes, Samantha, I do.” Samantha smiled.
“Okay, question two: how long do you want to be with me?”
“Forever.” Samantha could feel her knuckles shaking.
“Final question: Are you sure?”
“Yes…why?” Tara asked, confused. Samantha just smiled.
“Follow me.” She grabbed Tara’s hand, and the paper bag with her free hand. They walked through the sand in the scorching sun. Tara’s mind was racing. She didn’t know what to think, what to say, or what was happening. Samantha simply wore a big smile on her face as they reached the boardwalk next to the water. A cruise ship sailed by in the distance. Samantha stopped. She watched as Tara took in the scenery. The water, the ship, Samantha’s clutch on the bag of chocolates.
“Why did you bring that? I’m really not hungry.” She said, but Samantha ignored her question.
“Do you like it?” Samantha asked.
“Like what?”
“The cruise ship.” Tara smiled. She knew what was going on now. She figured out that Samantha had planned a vacation, a getaway for just the two of them. A vacation on a cruise ship for just her and Samantha. She didn’t realize how big her smile was until she had to reply.
“Yes, I love it.” Samantha returned her smile.
“Good.” She said. She let go of Tara’s hand, and knelt on the ground to dig through the paper bag. She pulled out a black box.
“…because that’s where our reception will be.” She opened the box to reveal, not chocolate, but a twisted band holding a large diamond in the middle.
-xLLSx-
(via reckless-lovee)
Strawberries
I was nine, and you were ten. My mom became friends with your mom, and invited you to my birthday party. There was a clown I was scared of, and presents I wasn’t really looking forward to opening. I didn’t know who you were, but I swear you knew who I was. You’ve always recognized my soul.
You bought me a present. A little tupperware box wrapped in blue tissue paper with a big silver bow on the top. After eating a little bit of cake and going through the pretending-to-be-happy-with-my-gifts cycle, you gave me that poorly wrapped box. I opened it up, and didn’t know what to think about what was inside.
“It’s a strawberry!” You exclaimed.
“…I know.” I said. I put on my fake smile, and said my fake thank yous, and then tossed it with the other reject presents. But that wasn’t the last of you. You stayed with me when I wanted to be alone. You played with me when all of the other kids ignored me. You helped me pick out clothes for my Barbie. We went outside, and you taught me how to properly hold a bat so we could play softball. You didn’t leave my side once. When it was time for everyone to leave, you begged my mother to let you sleep over, and she allowed you to.
In the morning, my mom made french toast with bananas. As you came to join us at the table, you snatched my fork out of my grasp and yelled “wait!”
“What??” I snapped back.
“You forgot your present!”
“What present?” I asked. You walked over to my pile of reject presents, and pulled out the strawberry. You placed it onto your plate, cut it in half with a butter knife, and gave me one of the halves.
“Everything tastes better with strawberries.” You said, flashing me a smile.
I was fifteen at the time, and you were sixteen.
You frowned at me, and you gave me a look of disappointment.
“You don’t actually celebrate it, do you? It’s such a greeting card holiday.” I said. Valentine’s Day wasn’t exactly my favorite holiday. I’d only had a boyfriend for it one year, and he didn’t even buy me anything. Being single on the day isn’t much better.
“Not really, but I did want to share something with you.” You replied.
“You bought me something?”
“No. Some girl bought me something. A box of chocolates, to be exact. I hate Valentine’s Day too, but chocolate’s still good, right?” I smiled at you.
“Only if there’s strawberry cream involved.” You flashed a smile back at me.
I was twenty-one at the time, and you were twenty-two.
I was sweating, and it was getting a little hard to breathe. My long, white dress dragged behind me as I sat down to take a deep breath and cool down. My plate still had scrapings of icing, but as sloppy as I am, the napkins were still neatly tied with a gold ribbon that read “Save the Date - March 16th.” My mother sat down next to me.
“Well, at least you’ve worked off that cake!” She said. I laughed. Nothing could work off this cake.
“Speaking of cake,” She began again. “I thought you decided on vanilla.”
“Individually, I did decide on vanilla. But, he wanted chocolate. So together, we decided on strawberry shortcake.” She looked at me weird, but I couldn’t explain it any better than I did.
I am twenty-three, and you are twenty-four.
It’s nine in the morning, and I feel your hands trail around my waist. I giggle as you nibble on my neck while I finish making our plates. I nudge you to sit down, and I transfer the plates to the table. You don’t move, and you refuse to eat. I was hoping you’d notice.
“I knew you’d pick up on it.” I smirked, and you returned it. I got up and grabbed a small tupperware box, where I sprinkled pre-chopped strawberries over our banana french toast.
“Everything tastes better with strawberries.” You said, as we shared a smile together.
-xLLSx-
(Source: topit.me, via boystudent)
Hillside Park
“Are you kidding me?” I squinted in anger, and he blinked at me, confused.
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
“Well, excuse me for wanting to actually do something nice for our anniversary.”
“Yes, Roger, going out to a restaurant would be nice. Or maybe ice skating. Or dinner and a movie. But staying home and playing video games all day? How is that remotely special?”
“We get to spend time together. We’d have fun. I mean, we never play anymore. We never just sit at home and be together anymore. We always have to go out somewhere.”
This went on for a while. We’ve been fighting so often, lately. Always about the same thing, too. I wanted to go out for our anniversary. We’ve been together for two years. Why is it so bad that I want to celebrate it?
They always end the same way. He comes up with some insensitive excuse to stay at home instead, I storm out, and then we end up going out anyway. But when we go out after fighting about it, it’s just not the same. I always give him this look of “is this really so bad?” and he just constantly looks down and refuses to remotely enjoy himself. We don’t talk much. We try to finish our food, or focus on the movie as much and fast as possible so we can get it over with. It’s just not the same. I miss our romantic dates. Those “staring into each other’s eyes with bliss” moments, while caressing each other’s hands in the middle of the table. I guess that only happens in movies.
“Whatever, okay.” I said, completely in tears. “If you don’t want to make an effort to celebrate two years of staying with me, then I don’t give a crap either.”
“Fine.” Here we are again. I stormed out, slamming the door behind me and wiping my tears with the back of my wrist. It was just past 11pm, so there wasn’t anybody around. The clicking of my heels was the only sound in the darkness.
I always went to the same place after storming out; Hillside Park. It’s a small park only a block away from our tiny excuse for a house. It took me a mere minute to get there. I had a spot, too. A bench behind the swings. It was the same spot I’d always go. I’d sit there and think for hours.
I crossed my legs and wiped the remaining wetness off of my cheek. I breathed and let out a deep sigh, staring off into the trees surrounding the park. I felt a tickle on the exposed part of my foot, and instantly moved it in fear of it being a spider. I hate spiders.
It wasn’t a spider, though. It was a fluffy, palm-sized, snow-white kitten. It was brushing against my foot. Luckily, I jerked my foot in the opposite direction so I didn’t hit it. It looked up at me with huge, black eyes and stared.
“Hello…” I said.
“Mew!” It replied. It stayed staring at me for a second, then jumped up onto the bench next to me and cried again.
“You smell like poop.” I said. She was cute, but still a dirty stray. She smelled terrible.
“That’s what I’m going to name you; poop. Hello, Poop.”
“Mew!” She replied. I laughed at her reply. She was starting to cheer me up. I played with her for a while then, until she got too tired and just sat there on my lap to stare at me. Why did she stare at me all the time? It boggled my mind.
It started to get really late, and I realized I’d have to go back home and go on with this general post-fighting routine soon. I sighed.
“So, Poop, I have this problem.” I began. Her ears perked up when I said her name. I guess she was starting to like it.
“Roger and I have been dating for two years tomorrow. Two whole years! It’s worth a celebration, right?” She just blinked at me, but I continued.
“I suggested going to The Lighthouse Diner for dinner, and then maybe going somewhere else after. A movie, ice skating, or simply taking a walk somewhere beautiful. He didn’t like that very much. Instead, he suggested staying home in our sweats playing a few rounds of Halo and Crazy Taxi. Tell me, which one sounds more romantic and celebratory to you? Huh?”
“Mew!” She answered.
“Exactly! It’s just, I don’t know what’s wrong with him sometimes.”
“Mew!”
“I mean, he is out of line, right?”
“Mew…” She started to close her eyes. She was completely worn out from playing so much, still. I thought about my whole situation. I thought about the fight, my plan, Roger’s plan, everything.
“Do you think maybe he just wants to spend more time with me?” She gripped my pants with her claw. I took it as a yes.
“Maybe you’re right, Poop. Maybe he just wants more alone time with me. We do go out a lot…maybe a little too much. I guess I’ve been a little out of line. He’s kind of right when he says we never just stay home and play video games anymore. Hmm.” I thought it over. I figured that he’s right. And it’s me who’s been insensitive.
I decided it was time to go home.
“Thank you, Poop.” I said, as I slid my hand underneath her and placed her on the bench. She didn’t move an inch. She just lied there asleep. I left Hillside, and started my one minute walk home.
When I closed the door behind me, Roger stood up from the couch to greet me.
“It’s one in the morning.” He said. Wow, I had no idea how much time had past. I guess I spent more time than I had thought talking to Poop. I grinned at his worried look.
“It’s alright babe. You were right.”
“Well, I have a watch for a reason.”
“No, I mean about earlier. We go out too much, and I never spend time alone with you anymore. I think staying home and playing video games sounds like a perfect anniversary date.” He smiled, and I returned it. He walked over to me and placed his arms around my waist while planting a kiss on my lips.
“What changed your mind?” He asked, still grinning.
“Poop.” I said.
“What?”
“You heard me. Poop.”
-xLLSx-
(Source: cutecatpictures, via boystudent)
“I’ll love you until the last one dies.” He said.
“Babe…” I replied. “You’re so cliche sometimes.”
He giggled. I nudged my nose into the fluffy pink petals, searching for the one that had no scent.
“Babe…where’s the fake flower?”
He grinned sheepishly. “There is none. They’re all 100% real.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I frowned. Although I detest those cheesy pages on Facebook where the guy does unrealistic prince-like things to make the girl swoon in every way possible, loving me until the last one dies would only last a week or two.
“But…does that mean…you’ll stop loving me in a week?”
“Of course not!”
“But, you’ll only love me until the last one dies…in a week is when all of them will be dead…”
“Not this one.” Suddenly, my eyes saw nothing but a silver sparkle and the glow of his big blue eyes as he muttered four simple words.
-xLLSx-
(via fuckyeahpinkthings)
