first || Perci
I remember that it hurt. Looking at him hurt.
Seeing his face hurt. Hearing him laugh hurt. Watching him move hurt. I never really understood why. I can't really name any other thing that hurt me more than this does.
Oh wait, yes I can. Seeing them together hurts a thousand times more.
As I watch him make googly eyes at the back of her head, I sigh and turn my seat in an angle where I don't have to look at him. It doesn't help, though. I could still sense him staring forlornly at her. And I could sense her loving it.
One thought rang through my head: he used to look at me like that.
Used to. Past tense.
I groan and try to focus on the teacher, who by now was spewing nonsensical bullshit at our class in that monotone voice that no one really listens to. Again, it doesn't help.
One last look at him, still staring at her from across the room, and I feel a white hot mix of anger, pain, jealousy and sadness boil through me. I clench my fists and unclench them.
God, I need to get out of here.
YOU ARE READING
Stitches
PoetryLove? Love is easy-it's like a walk in the park. Except the park is on fire And the ground is on fire. And the grass is on fire. And freakin' everything else is on fire. And the sky is black with smoke and you're weak-kneed and you can't breathe. B...
