Too Cool.

i- Intro.

Every afternoon we would meet.

We would meet outside the corner shop.

You'd be already waiting for me, because you lived nearer, and you'd be chewing on a pick n' mix. Smacking your lips together as you chewed on a strawberry chew. And when I'd say hello, your mouth would be too full, and too stuck together to reply, until a few minutes later.

This happened most days. Unless you got held up, and it was me there first.

But either way, we met. We met here even after you got your first tattoo. And your arm was all bandaged up, with blood dotting it, as you whined of the pain of it.

But you still got a second one, and we met here after it too.

You didn't complain quite as much that time. You were quieter about it.

And then a short while after that, our meetings became less frequent. You were too busy to come every day, you had said. Which I thought was fair enough. Until one day, you just stopped coming, without ever telling me why.  No more excuses, no reasoning. Nothing except, you were 'too busy'.

All I knew was you were too busy.

But then I heard from a friend that you had got your third tattoo. You said you would never get a third. You said three was your unlucky number. It was the reason why you'd never have another boyfriend.

Because he'd be your third. So I figured I could deal with being just friends. Even though I didn't want to be. Because I'd be number three, and if someone goes into a relationship thinking that it is destined to fail, well it's going to.

So imagine my shock when I found out you had a boyfriend. And he was indeed number three.

Then I found out that he had a well-paying part time job, and that he was captain of his footie team. And was quite popular.

Whereas the only thing I'd ever been captain of was when I was fifteen and captain of the schools chess team. Though I wasn't a hermit who lived for chess. I just liked it, and was good at it. But that is apparently quite uncool. Very uncool. And you used to tease me about that, and I had thought it was funny.

But maybe it wasn't a joke. Maybe you meant all of that. When you said you were 'too cool' for me, you had actually meant that.

That you were too cool, to even end what we had in person, rather than just leaving it.

Without a word. And maybe I'm thinking too much into it, you always said I thought too much. But I thought you had the decency to tell me things like this.

But you were too cool for me. You were always just too cool for me.

Too cool.