Silverfish

Trying is Hard - passage

I stood by myself, a few feet away from the goal post, staring. I was staring at him, of course. Waiting for him to look at me.

Just look at me for fuck's sake.

The anticipation of his attention was quite actually eating away at my heart. It was like it was something I needed–I needed some sort of strange confirmation from him.

I knew it was foolish to rely on someone for something, especially something as dangerous and detrimental as adoration, but fuck, I couldn't seem to shake it. Or him, I couldn't seem to shake him from my mind.

Matt, who actually appeared to be paying attention to the drill in front of myself, suddenly crossed the ball to the line of defenders opposite of us, sprinting along the sidelines to follow it.

Ah, so that's what we were doing.

But just as soon as my attention diverted from wanting his so desperately I found my eyes trailing back to that exact same spot, that terrible, irrational hope.

I liked to watch the way he concentrated on the drill, the way he reacted to what the others were doing. He seemed so invested in his thoughts, something I wish I could have the pleasure of tending to rather than having to constantly look at him. Why was it so important to receive his approval?

No, I wasn't even asking for that much.

I just wanted a quick glance.

I let out an exasperated sigh, disappointed in not only him but most entirely myself for being so weak to these "needs". Perhaps it was because I was just so deprived of this sort of attention and contact. No one even knew I was gay. I think they all just sort of assumed that girls weren't interested in me, therefore, I'd never gotten a date. And that wasn't entirely wrong–at least to the extent I'm aware of–but it wasn't exactly correct either. I know eventually I'd have to tell people, or someone, but for now, I'm damned to this seemingly perpetual hell, staring at a boy who would never know, and who would never fulfill my terribly demanding need.

It was my turn now to cross the ball, so I took a few steps backwards, and right as I planted my left foot I allowed myself one last shameful glance in his direction, and for the first time my eyes finally met with his.

I felt my stomach tighten and twist into nerves, only to find myself quickly avoiding his gaze all together, the fear of others noticing consuming even my most belligerent desires.

He had actually looked at me, he had given me his attention.

I decided that even if that much contact, as little and insignificant as it may seem, could make me feel this way, then it was safe to assume that whatever feelings I found tearing away at myself deriving from him was definitely worth the while.

Worth all of my unjustified agony, wanting, and love.