The Yellow Box

Its been maybe a couple of years since I took out that box and looked at its contents. And I am crying to make things worst. I mean...why? It was my decision to make things the way they are, although, deep down inside I have been hoping for the past three years to be wrong.

When I was a junior in high school, my biggest concern was to maintain my relationship a secret. We would wake up at about the same time, him for work and me for school. The best part about waking up was that he would always send me a good morning kiss. This seems like so long ago. I guess my mind blocked a lot of things because my heart was not willing to suffer the pain of the loss. To be very honest, I think I've forgotten most of it, which is why it doesn't bother me to write all this. This is just a faint memory I deal with... everyday.

There is one thing I do remember perfectly and that is the kiss competitions we would have. Its silly, I know, especially because they were just texts but honestly, back then, it meant the world to me. Most of the time I did outstanding in my classes. I was in a senior class, a college credit class, a second level language class,  floral design, speech,  and journalism. I had been told my sophomore year that my junior year would be my hardest, and yet, I found it my easiest year. My only worry was to pass my classes and to maintain that secret. Meanwhile, I wrote.

I had this notebook. It was little and with colorful stripes on the cover. That notebook was my everything notebook. In it, I wrote to him and myself. When class was boring, I would pretend to take notes in it; when I was bored, I wrote in it; when something happened, I wrote in it; when I needed to remember something, I wrote in it. To me it was like having him there with me. At first it was just me pretending, but later on I decided I actually wanted him to see how I 'had him next to me' basically all day. Eventually I started directing my entries to him.

That notebook was also numbered. It wasn't the regular pg. 1, 2, 3, etc. that you find in any book. Remember, this was about him and me. The pages were numbered backwards. Each number represented the days left until my 18th birthday, when we could finally be together. Sometimes I forgot to number (and date) the pages, so I would literally recount the days one by one. At that time it seemed like forever. It seemed like a lifetime, like it would never get there, or like time was not going by fast enough. Most of all, I craved to be by him.

The very few times we got to see each other were magical. I couldn't get pretty enough to my  standards, and yet, when we finally saw each other, his eyes would talk to me. Only I could understand them. This trait I learned to master with him. Its true when they say the eyes are the mirror to the soul and sometimes, our souls speak louder than our words. His eyes would tell me I looked beautiful, that I was in fact the most beautiful girl in his eyes. He could tell me he love me with those eyes of his. He could just stare at me  and not say a word the whole time. With those eyes I knew he was in love and so was I. I wanted so badly to hold his hand, to feel safe next to him. One thing he would never fail to do was whisper into my ear, loud enough for me to hear only, our secret. He would tell me "you look so beautiful," and instantly I would smile. He could make me smile with the most simple things.

We made a lot of promises and a lot of plans for the future. I guess that's what we would talk about on the phone or text. This is one of the things I can't remember well. I know we would text all day and talk during the night when everyone was asleep. I got caught maybe three times and of course, I lied and got in trouble but kept doing it anyways. Not a single person in this world could keep me away from him. In our phone calls he would sing The Scientist to me and sometimes wait until I fell asleep. He doesn't know it, but sometimes when I knew he was tired, I would pretend to fall asleep while he sent kisses until he hung up. I'd be awake but felt bad for keeping him awake since he was tired. I know I did most of the talking a lot of times. I talk a lot. He listened. We were both so good at having our conversations like that but sometimes I would get mad because I wanted him to tell me something. Gosh, I can't really remember why I would get frustrated so easily, I guess, like many things that were wrong with us, I was too young.

He really did mean the whole entire universe to me. He gave me butterflies just to think of him, he would bring smiles to my face in my daydreams. There was not a single second in my day that I did not think of him. I haven't loved anyone like that since then. I grew up and realized I wanted to pursue other things, I wanted to be young and innocent, I wanted to live life a little, I wanted to make mistakes and learn from them, I didn't want life to be predictable. Maybe I was being ambitious. Maybe I was scared. Maybe I wanted to be proven wrong. My life all of a sudden started going by so fast and it felt like I had no control to where it was going. I had wanted for three years to be with him. When he rejected me three times, I conformed with his friendship, as long as he was in my life I was happy. When it finally happened, it was the best time of my life. Unfortunately for me, once I felt like I could no longer breathe, I let him go.

I am so stupid.

Its too late now. We are friends again and I made him promise me he would never share our story with any of his future girlfriends, not even his wife. He is MY past and he had MY heart and no one has the right to have anything that is mine unless I give it to them. I wanted to remain a shadow in the past. No one ever stops to think of a shadow, its not important. All I have that I didn't destroy is a little yellow box with some things he gave me. I keep it locked and I hide the key where I won't remember. Its almost as if I wanted to keep that in the past, but I can't anymore. I am being replaced and the only thing that is still bonding me with him is that little notebook. I don't want him to have it because its like a sacred symbol of my love to him. A love that until now I realize, has never left me. Who knows where he keeps the notebook or if he still has it. I can't help to think that he does have it and he will keep it until that other girl gives him something, then that something will be the most special thing he has and it will replace the sentimental value that the notebook once had for the both of us. I can take being replaced, but that notebook means a lot more to me than what he can even begin to imagine. I cannot, and I repeat, I cannot live with the thought of being compared, or better yet, to have that present be compared or outdone by anything else. I have thought of it long and hard and I have come to the conclusion that if I don't get that notebook back, I will never move on and I will literally die of sadness. Let's be honest, no one I actually know reads this blog, so no one will ever know.

Now I can't stop crying...