I was sitting in class yesterday, and he came up to me, asked me what I was reading.
I didn’t say anything, just held up the book so that he could see it. Even though I was starring at the page, I knew he rolled his eyes. It’s something I could feel, and I know him well enough to know that he’d do it anyway.
“Why do you keep reading that?” he asked me. “Once you’ve read it, you’ve got the information. Reading it again is useless.”
I acted like I didn’t have an answer. I did, of course. I like it because of that one character, secondary love interest, because I completely understand how he feels. I understand why he will spend time with the main girl, even though she’s unattainable. Because he loves her.
And I understand why he will talk to her, spend time with her, even though he knows that it will only end in pain. Even though every think that she says, every time she touches him, even though his heart smiles a little, it’s like there’s a white-hot knife stabbing it, even though she loves someone else, even when her heart’s too broken to love him, even when she tells him and shows him time and time again that, in her mind, they’re only friends. I understand why he can endure that pain.
He can endure it because he knows that the pain of leaving her, of telling her that he’s going to go away and never come back, is so much greater than the pain of having his heart shot clean through time and time again. The stabbing he can handle, but his heart shattering into little pieces, pieces that keep breaking every time that she’s away is more than he can bear, and he can’t put his heart back together again: she took part of it with her, a crucial piece that is the only way to start mending it.
I keep reading these books because, even though I know that the ending is typed up, and it will always end the same way, there’s a little, irrational part of me that hopes that maybe this time it will be different, maybe this time it will end happily for him. Maybe this time it will be the ending that I want.
Maybe this time it’d have my happy ending hidden somewhere in there, deep in the pages, somewhere between the lines.
I sighed. It wasn’t something that I could really explain. Well not to him anyway.
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