When I'm Not Looking

He is everything that I want when we're together.
His language is clean.
His morals are innocent.
His hands stay to himself.
He has no prejudices.
He is everything that my parents want as well.
But who is he when I'm not looking?
I see him sonetimes, with others.
He doesn't know I'm there.
He can't see me.
But I can see him.
He is different.
He swears.
He jokes about dirty things.
He's so touchy feely.
He cracks racist one-liners.
He isn't what my parents want at all.
He finally sees me, as I watch his true self.
He pauses.
I turn away.
I feel my heart rip in half.
I wonder how he feels.
Why is he so different when I'm not looking?

I Told You So

I brace myself for that one phrase.
The rejection.
The end.
I know it's coming. Everyone does.
He's nervous. Even I can tell, though he tries to hide it.
He thinks I dont' know, but I do.
He runs his fingers through his brown hair. The same movement he does when hes about to make a move.
But not this time.
The truth comes out.
It's worse than I thought.
I wasn't enough for him. I never was and never will be. That much is obvious.
He's stopped talking, waiting for my response.
I don't say anything.
Instead, I pretend, that I'm in my room, safe under my blankets, away from heartbreak.
He finally turns away.
I make a noise.
Four words.
"I. Told. You. So."
His face is priceless. He remembers.
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
I flash back to our moments, some good, some bad, all meaningless to him.
How can one be so heartless?
Even I don't know.
I mentally make a checklist of things I need to do once this is over: delete all our emails, burn the pictures, shred the letters.
Start all over again.
I am burnt out.
I calmly turn and walk out of the room.
He calls after me, yells, taunts empty and broken promises.
I don't turn around.
I leave it all behind.
I don' care anymore.
I walk away and don't look back.
"I told you so," still ringing in both of our ears.
I've always told you so.

Beach Heartbreak

I wait for him. I sit at the water's edge and wait. He knows I'm waiting. I saw him, looking at me through the kitchen window. But he doesn't care. I still wait.

The sun moves to the west; I know it will be dark soon. But I still wait.

He finally emerges from the place that he hides in, day after day, scared to face me. He has to speak to me. I know it; he knows it. Tomorrow we both leave for home. Tomorrow, it all ends.

He sits beside me, not talking. I can feel his fear. His fear of the unspoken, of what I might say, of the truth I could speak. He is a coward.

I am patient. He hates me for it.

I desperately try to get over him. I can't. There's something about your first love that keeps him coming back, even though you hate it. No matter how hard you try to get him out of your head. He's always there.

Finally, he speaks.

I listen.

He tries to deny all the wrong he has done against me. I try not to laugh. Instead, I smile and nod, barely hearing the words coming from his lips.

I pretend the words he's saying are the ones he said when we were in love: "You're beautiful" "I trust you" "I'm here for you" "I love you".

If I pretend, it doesn't hurt as bad. I fake another smile, suddenly wanting to go.

He stands up and brushes the sand off his pants. He's ready to leave. He wants to end this last conversation that we will probably ever have. He's still scared of me. It's all too obvious.

I stand too. I tell him that he needs to grow up, that I'm tired of his shenanigans, and that I never want to see him again.

But I don't mean it. I pretend I do, but I don't. I don't think he knows I still love him and that he will always be in my heart.

He doesn't know what to do. He turns and walks away, back to his hiding spot.

I imagine him running back to me, scooping me up in his arms and giving me the protection and comfort that he used to. And he'd whisper those three word in my ear, "I love you," and my world would be perfect.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even look back.

I stare at the sand, trying but failing to keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks. The tears that have been there for years that have never been able to come out. Those tears from all the hurt and pain that he's caused me. For all the embarrassment and anger he's made me endure.

But one tear is for the boy who is walking away, with every step, putting miles between us, leaving me here, mourning for the boy who has now disappeared.

The Point

The whole point of this blog is to get my feelings out. I don't typically share anything to anyone ever. But I write a lot. A public blog is a big step for me, but I think that through my writings, perhaps others can learn from mistakes I've made or triumphs I've had. In each story, there is a specific person in mind. I won't use names, but if you're the character in the story, you'll know. Not all the words spoken are accurate. Some might not even be real, just what I thought. But it doesn't matter. Because I think that everyone can learn from someone else.