think then feel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a short piece I wrote about two people. It's my first story. Just a quick one shot.

Submitted: December 06, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 06, 2011



Sometimes she thinks it’s because they are both lonely. No matter how many times they both say they are done they end up crawling back. Perhaps it’s because deep down he knows that she’ll always forgive him no matter how much it hurts her. Maybe she knows he will always be there waiting to save her with an inappropriate joke laced with affection. She knows other people see it. Hell, they voice it all the time. She just simply shrugs and says no. He hears it too but opts for silence.

Beneath the half smiles and almost touches is a distance that neither can close. She’s too closed off, afraid to be hurt, to be rejected. It’s her worst fear. Ironically, she thinks as she curls up on the pavement in a mockery of everything she believes in, she is hurt anyway. And the worst part is she thinks she deserves it. Try as she may to stand high on her soapbox, she knows, deep down, sometimes she hurts him too. She pushes him away sometimes because she knows that he will eventually leave. Everybody leaves her it seems. She was never good enough to be around very long. Just another pretty girl; there are a million pretty girls in the world. Besides, he’s too happy. Forever the jokester, but she knows that the humor is a façade. And sometimes she can’t see the twinkle in his eyes and that makes her sad. Her pride, however, won’t let her tell him that. Because that is their ultimate downfall: her pride versus his stubbornness. He won’t tell her things sober; the longing looks and soft touches vanish with the fading moon. She despises him for making her hate the morning.

Sometimes they don’t know where it all broke apart. She thinks he hates her for making him try to be a better version of himself. Not change him, just see the good inside. He thinks she resents him. He knows she is wary of opening up, and no amount of apologies can erase the conversation he didn’t have with her. And she can’t take back the hate she uttered in a drunken haze. Her pride won’t let her; his stubbornness keeps him from calling.

They don’t talk much anymore. Not about important things. Not about the inane things. When they do it is about memories. And it’s sad because it’s almost like a eulogy. Mourning a time that once was, tragic if one really stops and thinks about it.

Sometimes she knows deep down that he loves her in his own way. He knows she loves him in her own way. Others say it’s for the best, to give it time, they will work it out. He opts for silence. She simply shrugs and says no.

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