Boys & Girls

Susan Améthiene

I’m not especially beautiful. I’m not a brain, or a ballerina; I can’t sing and I can’t write. English bores me, math confuses me, and science is out there in another damn universe. I’m not talented at anything. I’m just me.

It’s not so bad. I live with it day after day. I’m not different, and I’m not the same. There are a lot of people out there who would give anything to be like me: ordinary.

But you saw past that. You saw something different, something special, something beautiful in me. You make me feel as though I can be more than what I am. You look at me, and I feel as though I can fly. Your touch makes my skin tingle … you laugh and I forget how to breathe … you smile at me and nothing else matters.

Your eyes … I love your eyes. No one else has eyes like yours. A rare blue-grey, never clouded by dark thoughts; always bright with laughter and happiness. You used to look at me with those eyes as though I was the only one alive.

Why did that have to change? Why couldn’t I have told you then? Why did she have to come along and ruin everything?

Why do I have to be so scared?

I want to tell you that I love you. I love you so much it hurts, seeing you two together, happy, oblivious to the rest of the world. I’ve never loved anyone in my life like I love you. And I’m not sure whether or not that’s a good thing. I’ll never have you. I missed my chance.

Regret is bitter.

Even if I died and went to Hell, this would be worse, this sitting here, thinking of you when I shouldn’t be. This wondering what things might have been like if I’d told you sooner. This wishing I had told you then.

Wishes are all I have these days. Jesus, I’m pathetic, aren’t I? Sitting here and wishing things were different, wishing I was in your arms.

The only time I feel truly safe is when you hold me, you know. In your arms, nothing can get me, nothing can hurt me.  In your arms, I can face anything, be whoever I want to be. In your arms, I can take on the world.

In your arms, I can be me.

I wish I hated you.

Would that make things easier, if at first sight, I’d despised instead of loved you? Would it be better that way? I could try; for you, for me, for her. She who got there first.

If only this could be easy. Nothing’s ever easy, though. Learned that one the hard way.  I tried. God knows I tried.

But I can’t help loving you. I don’t care if it’s wrong, or if you’ll never love me back, or if I will never have you. You are the one getting married, after all.

If loving you condemns me, let me burn in Hell.