It's August again
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I make something wonderful, thinking in fairy tales he'll sweep me off my feet and kiss me. He arrives and I lay out my feast for him to admire. He scowls, then begins to question every aspect that I have given my heart to. I scream, he screams even louder and meaner. I slam a door and he ends it with "I don't give a fuck about your feelings!" I cry in hiding, sleep on the couch, and stop speaking to him for 15 hours. 36 hours later we act like nothing happened at all; same time again next month or maybe every other month. Is it August again?
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"Don't you see now why we can't be together?" I whispered at the crazy boy in front of me. "Aren't you repulsed by me? Disgusted? Dis interested? Can't you just tear my heart out and leave like any other normal teenage boy?" My voice cracked. He simply shook his head. "Sweetheart, I thought I made it clear from the first time I said it," He paused, "I. Like. You." He emphasized every word, and I gaped at him. "Hell of a lot, actually, so it'd be great if you stopped being salty and liked me back." "Don't you get it?" I whispered unbelievingly, "After all that, and you still don't get why I can't be with you?" He seemed relaxed, calm. Too calm for this situation. "My life doesn't involve a guy like you, Nathan. Never did. You're not my knight in shinning armor, and you aren't going to save me. This is reality, the real world. And the real world doesn't have happy endings." ---- To me, there's are six different types of crying. One; The Breakdown. Two; The Longing. Three; The Hysterical. Four; The Broken. Five; The Happy. Six; The Inevitable." ---- This short story is very depressing, I'm warning you now. It may trigger memories, or depression symptoms.
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