Harvard Boy

Fantasy.

It was the packing. The monumental notion of discovering who she was, who she wanted to be.

It was the way he watched her leave, like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn't; wouldn't .

The discontent of feeling like she's lived a lifetime in a mere seven months, and how monumentally aware of the way it changed her.

Made her inwardly fold into herself until she felt as if the world couldn't see her anymore.

That's what framed her into a women, instead of the girl who began her freshmen year at Harvard uni.

She has evolved into the circumstances she was given.

She loves a boy; who doesn't love her back.

She lives in a continues loop of hatred and temptation.

How cliche; always cliche.

She wiped away the minuscule tears cascading her cheeks. Trying desperately to hold on to whatever self worth she had left, while shoving clothes in briefcases and small bags.

And then the pounding began, the slamming of her door. The Victoria just listen to me.

But she knew all to well.

He'd had his chance; multiple even.

If she opened the door.

All that would come, would be naked bodies sprawled against her mattress; his empty promises of beach houses and warm nights. Her reluctance to not fall for a fantasy.

She knew all to well of his charm.

She knew all to well of her love for him.

She knew all to well of their story.

"Baby, just open the door."

*Boom Boom*

"Please."

With each tantalizing word, or imploring explanation, she felt guilt surge, and the desire to have him bloom.

But she thought of her mother, along with who her father used to be.

Knows they'd be proud to see her ignore; see her be better than what her aspirations demand.

To let a boy drift from her existence, because a man is presently what she needs.

It's ironic how he made it that way.

But it was only when she felt the silence slowly immerse, that her breathing became accustomed again.

It was only when she felt the weight of it, that she knew she was doing the right thing.

He'd gone, but - "Im sorry."

It killed her, the way he said it. The way those words seemed foreign and inexplicable; how she wishes he'd never had said them; but more of, he was never supposed to.

"I love you." She cried, equally as splintering.
Unable to hold back the truth, because it was far bigger than her.

There was nothing said, and that only made the ordeal all that much more dramatic.

But then, she heard the swoosh of something sliding on her floor.

Heard his heavy boots leaving.

Felt her life crumbling.

Remembers her first romantic novel again; the fighting; the kissing; the sex. But recalls the characters demise, the way their hearts broke for each other, how it ended with nothing.

Victoria walks across her dorm, and she feels in depth with her book.

She looks down; notices the mystic black journal limp on the ground, and feels her heart break.

She picks it up, holds it in her hands as if it couldn't be real.

Wonders how he got it back in the first place? Wonders what it all means? Wonders why she's clutching it so tight?

She opens it, and knows nothing at all.

(It's 3 am here. So if you're sleeping, hopefully you wake up to this, and have a good day because I updated. 😊 I love you guys 😘 Hey we're beasts for winning the AMA's 😉)