Ramblings.

Chances;

It takes courage to like someone, and it takes trust to sleep with someone. But the hardest thing to do, what takes guts, is to tell someone that you like them.

After you gather up every bit of gumption to tell someone you've known for years that you like them, all you can do is shake. You sweat. You feel cold, even though it's 90 degrees outside.

So you tell them. Whether it be in person or over technology, and every second feels like a minutes. Every minute they don't text back is an hour. Your stomach is in knots, you feel like you're going to puke everywhere.

The excuses start to come in. Maybe the service is bad. Maybe thy're just driving. Maybe they're taking a shower. Maybe, just maybe, they're smiling so much that they can't ever think of the words to say.

Your phone vibrates and your heart stops, a pain in your chest grows. Do you dare see what he said? You unlock your phone, and it's just a notification from an app.

Part of you is upset, most of you is relieved. You're not quite ready to know what he said.

The nail biting anticipation makes you think of the other things you'd rather do. Sit in the most boring class with the world's most boring teacher. Not eat or drink for a week. Be one of those people standing out in the hot summer in in one of those dollar bill outfits, holding a sign. Have someone place cement blocks to your ankles and walk all the stories of the Emipre State Building.

Another vibrate. This is it. You open the message and you feel your heart drop down, right into the pit of your stomach.

Every possible response goes through.

It just wouldn't work.

plese don't text me again.

I'm willing to try, I do like you, but...

All they are... are negative responses. You can only imagine your world crashing down. Crying in class. your body shutting down. Not moving. Barely breathing. Just staring. Everyone talking goes quiet, and you're left with just a ringing in your ear.

Finally, you swallow that lump in your throat -- swallowing your pride -- take a final breath in as you see what he said.

A question. In the midst of the nerves, shakiness, and lump in your throat, you spelled something wrong. All that waiting for nothing. You reword it, hoping for a better reply.

In this moment, all your worries go away. Who cares if he doesn't like you back? You did your best and said how you feel. If they can't accept that you did that, unveiling what was hidden, yet so obvious, for years, then fuck them.

All those nerves come back again when you feel that vibrate. All you can do is breathe. Shake. Wonder. Worry. Make or break, you put everything you had into the pot.

For hopefully the last time, you swallow that lump in your throat, preparing for the worst. Now or never.

I don't want more. I've made that super clear.

It takes you five rereads, one minute, to process what was said. The whole sentance. Word by word. Letter by letter. Your face grows hot from your now stuffy nose out. Your eyes pool with tears, but they never fall. You're back in that quiet room with the ringing in your ear.

You tried, and got shut down You took a chance, and fell. Four years -- gone. Trust -- gone. You flash back to every moment you had. His laugh, his smile, his craft. The way his lips always cured your anxiety, stress and fears. The memories of waiting by the window for him to come. The memories that made you smile, laugh, and made you fall for them in the first place.

Was it a waste of time? Or was it a lesson learned? There was something you learned: never use your guts to tell someone the truth. Why fix something that wasn't broken? Why open your mouth and make someone disappear when you could be the same ammount of hurt, but still have them be there?

All you have now left is the broken pieces of your guts. Spilled on the floor, the loud ringing in your ears, and one question: Why not me?