TWO YEARS

CHAPTER ONE~ """"Love""""

    I don't understand the saying "It gets better"- it really doesn't. I guess people just say that so they have something to hope for, something to reach for. But, it never really gets better. it never hurts any less or gets any easier. You just learn to live with the pain. And maybe that's a good thing- becoming tolerant to constant pain- but then again, maybe it's not.

    I know first hand things don't get better. It's been two years. Well in forty eight hours. And if anything it gets harder every day. You wake up, hoping, praying that they'll come back to you. Hoping, praying see their smiling face or hear their exuberant laugh. But everyday you're left with the same ending, heart crushing result- their not coming back.

    I guess I accepted that fact and moved on... Kind of. I have a normal life now... Kind of. And a daily routine... Kind of. My life seems to drag on into slow motion now. The very tick of the second hand on a clock taking an hour. And everyday, I check the calendar. I count how many days it's been, and estimate how many more it will be. Though I know it will be infinite more seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years- the promise on my left hand refuses to let me release the thought of him.

    My friends imply that I'm just torturing myself- insisting he obviously doesn't care and I should move on with my life, fall in love again, be happy, I've concluded they simply don't understand. There's something about your first love... You never really love anyone after that. They just become a place holder. A face and a name to hold a spot in case your original love decides to return. Your first love... Well, their something special. You'll always remember their name, the way their eyes light up when they're passionate about something. The way their hair looks everyday, the way they look when they wake up in the mornings, even the way they walk. It's all etched into your brain like an un-erase-able etch-a-sketch. It pays through your mind thoroughly on a daily basis, just so you can't forget that no matter whom you're with, it will never be the same. It will never be them. It seems like a foreign form of torture, right? I guess some may say. But to others, those whom still yearn to feel their first love, crave to have them by their side again, it's a simple reminder that once, you made them smile that enlightening smile, and maybe one day you'll fulfil it once more.

    I decide that after about thirty minutes of staring at the ceiling feeling blank, it's time to get up. I reluctantly throw my legs over the side of my bed and hoist myself to my feet, I turn, and pause. My eyes caressing the right side of the bed, still made, un-touched. The same Rolex watch sprawled across the alarm clock, the same novel open and face down holding a certain page, the rest waiting to be read.

    I stifle a sob, and turn my back, forcing a few steps towards my living room. The further I get, the easier it seems to be to take those baby steps. I trudge to my cell phone plugged into the wall and as if on cue, it turns into a spasm of vibrations and music, hinting that my best friend was calling.