Here I am again, with a diary in a hand and in the other, a blue pen. Both pointing towards the hard, cold ground. And above was my face, covered in amazement and surprise but just for a second. My lips, not like lately, were not alone but intertwine with another. Soft, warm, comforting bare hands holding my face to preform the old ritual correctly. And for a second, like that other night, I had a feeling, a feeling that has been lingering in the boules of my heart for so long, were finally set free... for a second. And after that second an echo came to me. Repeating each time like a broken record.
"On and off"
A phrase my dear friend, Angel, had told me before. A phrase that turned my magical, romantic second into a nightmare of panic and confusion. My feeling for that other had turned in to a banished thought, sent to the prefaces of my mind. I had a new feeling of worry, regret and disappointment. But my one second feeling lingered and a great mind war foram that left me with no way of movement. I stood there for the rest if the ritual petrified and pleasantly stud. And once he was done with the ritual (kissing's the ritual) I had to break the news.
I close my diary, put my pen away and take a deep breath and exhale.
"I'm sorry Arnold, I can't love you."
