No.
I move through the day like a robot, checking in and checking out. The longer I’m alone, the more in my head I get. Remembering that I promised Jace I would go to Logan’s birthday party this Saturday fills me with a sort of panic. Yet I have to do this. Dr. Harris said I need to make like a real person again, and she’s right.
But it still scares the shit out of me.
I’m in my communications class, which is huge, and there’s this girl who I sit close to every day. She’s petite, her hair is long and blond, and she reminds me so much of Fable, it’s almost painful.
But I’m a glutton for punishment. I like sitting by her. Pretending she’s someone else, holding my breath when she turns her head in my direction, always ready to be surprised when I find out Fable really is sitting next to me.
Dealing with the disappointment when the truth is revealed. She isn’t who I want her to be. No one ever will be.
The professor is droning on, but I’m not listening. I take out a sheet of paper and start writing. A letter I will never give a certain someone. But I need to pour my feelings out for her or I’m going to explode. Once my pen meets the paper, the words just flow, and I have no control over them.
Maybe it was a mistake leaving you.
And I don’t know how to make it right.
Regret fills me every single day.
So much of it builds up I
Hate myself for
Missing you. Hurting you.
And I want you to know I…
Long for you
Love you
Others may come and go in our lives but…
We belong together
I stare at my stupid little poem that the girl I love will never read. I draw little squiggly lines around it. A cursiveF, just like I was taught to write in elementary school. The first initial of her name. Fable. A story. A myth. A fairy tale. She’s my story. I want to live and breathe and die for her, and she has no idea how much she consumes my thoughts. To the point I think of nothing else. I’d rather sit in class and write her love poems with secret messages in them than pay attention to what’s really going on in my life.
What a fucking mess I am.
For a girl
As pretty as she deserves the
Best. No more
Lies. She is my
Everything.
But I’m not brave enough to tell her. I stare at this new bit I wrote for her and disgust fills me. I’m not good enough for her. I can’t even tell Fable how I really feel about her to her face.
“Are you a writer?”
I glance up to find my pseudo-Fable smiling at me, and I frown. Her face is all wrong. She has brown eyes. And she’s not as pretty, though she’s definitely attractive. I don’t knowhow I thought she looked like Fable. “What did you say?” I ask.
She nods toward the piece of paper filled with my scribbling. “You’re not paying attention to the lecture. Are you writing a poem? It looks like one.”
Sliding my hand over the paper to hide the words from her seeking eyes, I study her face, willing her to look more like Fable. But it doesn’t happen. This girl is nothing like her. And I hate her for it. “I’m taking notes.”
