-six.
I Want You
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What would even be my biggest achievement up to date? Surviving the ennui of living in bumfuck nowhere?
These people probably can't even hear me over the high whine of my shining trust fund. I come off as pretentious, I know that. The bitch sat at the desk in front of you who raises her hand every minute to give some asswipe, pedantic, wordy comment.
But asswipe comments and manic pixie dream girl behavior are something Marie only does when she's happy or excited about something.
And fuck, I'm so thrilled to catch at least a glimpse of Christian every now and then. It's like I've been living my life In grayscale and he's the first time I've seen color.
A madwoman's love. God, I'd give anything to feel that. It probably feels good, to feel so inspired. Could we ever be that to each other?
What was I saying? Feels like I'm not right. Feels good.
It feels pink.
I get dressed up now. Well, I've always been known for dressing up but now. I'm wearing this dress that was my sister's and it's long and blue and I hope it doesn't get me overstimulated later but it probably will. And as I was waiting for 10:50 to strike, I sat on the benches by the vending machine. Legs crossed and keeping small talk with classmates when he walks by.
And he waves.
Oh fuck he waves and I turn all shades of pink.
But he doesn't notice and just walks away. My friends do and they tease me about my red ears and my warm cheeks and fuck, I'm embarrassed and usually I wear my embarrassment nicely but this time it's all over the place and it's spilling and seeping out of my hands.
"Oh my god, you're red!"
Paula giggles and I look down and bite my lip.
Please don't point it out"
I groan and flatten my palms on my cheeks.
"You like him, don't you?"
"It's a small crush"
"Right"
"Shut up"
But small crushes are usually a one-glance thing. This man has me talking about him to my friends from the rich fuckers campus. Melanie has heard about him a few times but I stopped telling her because she has the same fucking comment "Just go talk to him", I can't talk to him, how could I approach him and do something such as even dare speak to him when I can't even look him in the eye if I bump into him in public?
A hallway crush. No more than that.
By two, I'm on rich fucker ground, right under the a.c unit trying to cool down from the nasty sweat from riding on the back of the bus. I say hi to my best friend who waltz away with her asshole boyfriend and go back to doing homework with Camille. I told her how my college was free, what I had for lunch (also free), and how much money the school gave me. They also gave me a new laptop (guess what, also free) not long ago and I was stoked. I told her that too and she whines cutely about regretting not studying math at my college and having to bear CompSci here.
And then I tell her about you.
How I see you in the hallways and smile, how I avoid your eyes when I spot you in public, how I get jealous of the way you frolic and socialize in a way I couldn't even if I tried. Of the way your glasses fall on the bridge of your nose. How my hands get clammy when you say hi, how my eyes light up when you say hi to me but my hopes go back down when I realize you're just friendly to everyone. And how one time I got visibly angry when I saw you with another girl.
Survival and desire amalgamated and turned an aphotic eye inward. I saw my expectations dismantled and dismembered by the harsh and starving dogs of reality. Truths that sit in the vacuity of space like a hypergiant star burning to ash.
Pretentious, wordy, pedantic, finicky, and overscrupulous way of telling myself that we're just strangers, acquaintances at best. What are the odds that I'd ever have anything more than blushy hallway encounters with him? Nothing more than over-excited delusions I tell my friends about and the feeling of wearing lipstick and curling your hair around your finger for a man. Because of a man.
It's for the thrill of something that I've managed to go my whole life without knowing. An ache of anticipation that you'll be here. And it will mean something that you are. Be here. Be here. Be here.
But, if you can believe it, even graveyards grow flowers.
