Let's face it, every girl dreams, or at least has dreamed once, that she is saved by her knight in shining armor and then is taken to a big white castle where they'll live happily ever after. Of course, girls like us get lucky if a guy just as little as smiles at us. Then we turn around to see the hot bimbo he was actually waving at. Yeah, it does hurt to dream if you do it forever. The problem we have though is that we can never move on. Ever.
"But I swear he looked at me"
" Gisell-"
"No! I mean it this time. We even made eye-contact. I promise this is different!"
"OK, fine, you guys made eye-contact but don't yo-"
"Yes, I know what you're going to tell me..."
No you don't actually...because really I'm the one who always ends up eavesdropping. By now I ACTUALLY don't know what her friend is going to say, but I DO know what Giselle is going to say. Why? Because I do the same thing. I tell people how we met; as if it were almost destiny. What started out as a friendly conversation led to a long story of love. I never intended to hear what Giselle and her friend talked about, but they sat behind me, so I really had no option, I even once wanted to turn around and give my two-cents on the matter, but I chickened out because Giselle's friend scared the crap our of me.
"We met in seventh grade" yep and they had a class together, "and we had a class together" he sat next to her "he sat next to me" but it was his friend who hooked them up "but it was Andrew who hooked us up."
Like I said, I know her story. Every time I hear it, I start to get all kinds of memories from him. Up to a certain point, I hate Giselle for doing this to me. Then again, I've never asked the teacher to move me... I guess sometimes I like to remember. You see, him and I had a very strange beginning. In fact, I was creepy, but I was a freshman so I guess it's OK. Now that I'm a Senior though, I'd never in a million years use that same...technique. If I admit that I stalked him a little we can skip a few dirty details. The truth is thought, that I liked talking to him. We had so much to talk about, mostly because we were so different and we learned from each other. Of course, I learned ten times more from him than he did from me, but that was evident since he was four years older.
"I really miss him...do you think..."
"Look Giselle, that was a long time ago"
Ha! Tell me about it. A long time ago I was obsessed with him, a long time ago I wanted him to like me so much or alt least to just have his entire attention and devotion. A long time ago, I was in love.
A long time ago was a long time ago...
Giselle knew more than anyone what a long time ago meant because her guy had happen seven years ago; that is very long ago. But sometimes, time doesn't matter to the heart.
"It was like were were meant to be." She said that with a very sad longing in her eyes, one that I am very familiar with. Actually, everyone says that about their partner at one point or another. When there's a lot of people asking what is going on between you two, well it just adds on to the idea of perfection. It's sorta like fuel for the soul of your love. The only reason why we kept quiet about it was because I was so little and he was older. From just plain sight, you couldn't tell, but, everyone know he was 20 and I was 16. Between us, it didn't matter because our feelings were much stronger that a four-year-difference. Giselle said they were meant to be because she thought she was in love, then again, who can really understand love besides its creator?
Even though the bell rang I can tell you exactly what Giselle would tell her friend until as always, she'd end up standing by the rail looking down as if waiting for someone. Waiting for him. I went up to her at some point to ask her for the class notes, then I remembered she had been talking and was probably just as lost as I was. Instead I asked her how she was doing on her free-writing assignment. "I'm doing OK. I found a poem that I'm going to analyze. What about you?" Me? well I haven't even started..."OH yeah, I'm doing great. Well I have to get going. See ya!" I should've asked her what poem she was talking about.Giselle wasn't just naturally beautiful, she was very smart as well and when it came to writing it was always an easy A for her.
I went home that same day and looked up a poem to analyze. Maybe I felt lame for taking Giselle's idea but her essay was going to be better anyways. The problem was that I found nothing so I ended up doing a satire on Baby Food. When I was stuck doing an essay he would help me. Naturally his age made him more 'experienced' but in reality, he was just good at everything. He had the solution to literally everything. I even used to call him my human encyclopedia or my human conscience. I never told him this...it was too embarrassing to admit that I couldn't do anything compared to him. Everything I did, I did it in an attempt to be better at something that he was already a genius at. The race though, never finished.
Giselle gave me her essay the next day to edit. It was even better than what I had in mind, and its honesty made me feel vulnerable. Her essay came alive...
"The author reveals to us in a
compassionate tone how he feels at a
great moment of distress...The Gazelle lives
surrounded by a predator always liable to death...
When he uses the word leap repeatedly
we see all his attempts of running
away from those that hurt him...His
description of the Gazelle's beauty reveals
a question in our minds, is this Gazelle
a lost love or an unsettled emotion?"
I handed Giselle her paper back and smiled. "It's good, really nice. I'd watch out, its a little wordy in a few places." Without being able to hold back the tears I shot out to the bathroom and soon found myself in the field. My chest was tight, my fingers numb; all around me everything was spinning and the slightest noise made an unbearable echo. I collapsed in tears for the first time in six months. Four year ago I had a best friend that I fell in love with. That was a long time ago but it still feels like yesterday that I'd wake up with his text or call. It was just yesterday that I could call him at any time for any reason. I am a slave to his memory just like Giselle; I am that stupid Gazelle that the poem talked about. The question still pops in my mind once in a while, why did I leave? I left because he was too good. Because I didn't know how to make him happy.
Now every time I hear Giselle talk about her long-lost love I don't only remember mine, I long it. Yeah, the Gazelle leaped away from danger, but it landed wrong , broke its leg and died. I tore my heart to pieces and became like Giselle secretly, waiting for someone. Maybe I'm also waiting for him to come back, but in the end, girls like Giselle and I don't get that kind of luck. We can hope for days and months and years but when the sun comes up, our screens have no new texts or missed calls. The urge to dial comes up, just to even hear the voice on the answering machine. Don't call us desperate, even if there's someone right in front of us, our previous heartaches have blinded us form seeing anyone else. Who really cares though. We are young and dumb and worst of all, we are huge dreamers. Someday I won't be blind anymore. Someday I won't miss him, what he made me feel or the love he gave me...
Giselle still stands by the wall looking at everyone passing by. She's waiting for him and he'll come someday. How do I know this? Because he is actually standing in front of her, she's just too naive to notice.
compassionate tone how he feels at a
great moment of distress...The Gazelle lives
surrounded by a predator always liable to death...
When he uses the word leap repeatedly
we see all his attempts of running
away from those that hurt him...His
description of the Gazelle's beauty reveals
a question in our minds, is this Gazelle
a lost love or an unsettled emotion?"
I handed Giselle her paper back and smiled. "It's good, really nice. I'd watch out, its a little wordy in a few places." Without being able to hold back the tears I shot out to the bathroom and soon found myself in the field. My chest was tight, my fingers numb; all around me everything was spinning and the slightest noise made an unbearable echo. I collapsed in tears for the first time in six months. Four year ago I had a best friend that I fell in love with. That was a long time ago but it still feels like yesterday that I'd wake up with his text or call. It was just yesterday that I could call him at any time for any reason. I am a slave to his memory just like Giselle; I am that stupid Gazelle that the poem talked about. The question still pops in my mind once in a while, why did I leave? I left because he was too good. Because I didn't know how to make him happy.
Now every time I hear Giselle talk about her long-lost love I don't only remember mine, I long it. Yeah, the Gazelle leaped away from danger, but it landed wrong , broke its leg and died. I tore my heart to pieces and became like Giselle secretly, waiting for someone. Maybe I'm also waiting for him to come back, but in the end, girls like Giselle and I don't get that kind of luck. We can hope for days and months and years but when the sun comes up, our screens have no new texts or missed calls. The urge to dial comes up, just to even hear the voice on the answering machine. Don't call us desperate, even if there's someone right in front of us, our previous heartaches have blinded us form seeing anyone else. Who really cares though. We are young and dumb and worst of all, we are huge dreamers. Someday I won't be blind anymore. Someday I won't miss him, what he made me feel or the love he gave me...
Giselle still stands by the wall looking at everyone passing by. She's waiting for him and he'll come someday. How do I know this? Because he is actually standing in front of her, she's just too naive to notice.
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