Void

You sit by yourself, surrounded by chattering students, in a bubble of isolation. I sit on the other side of the room, back pressed up against the wall. My hand lies flat on the ground, fingers scraping along the pebbles and grit. I look at you; you seem so lonely, so alone.

I want to walk across the floor. I want to talk to you. I want to stand next to you so that it becomes us, not you over there and me over here. I want—I want—

But the space between you and I stretches out, empty and void. To cross it is a prospect that causes my stomach to clench and roil. It is too much.

I want, but I can’t.

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I stride swiftly home, backpack puling at my neck. I rub at my neck to relieve the ache, and I hear footsteps approaching me from behind. A jolt unsettles my stomach; I know who it is.

You walk past me, legs a blur of motion, talking excitedly to a boy who listens with a patient, amused expression on his face. You don’t look so lonely anymore. I watch as he places a hand on the small of your back. It is a gesture that is subtle; a gesture that makes it you and him, together.

The two of you cross the street, while I am forced to wait as a car screeches past me. As soon as it roars down the street, I look for you, and see you and that boy duck into a car.

The distance between you and I stretches out, further than before.