The Love Conundrum


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.::: Part One :::.

Every night, I lie awake on my bed. I'm told that if I just close my eyes, relax, and don't think, I'll drift away effortlessly. But I can't not think when everything is quiet. Because when there's silence, there's the potential for silence to be broken.

For instance, if he and I were talking, and everything fell quiet, and he looked into my eyes... There's a possibility that he'd tell me that he loved me. Or is love too strong a word?

So when I'm alone, and it's quiet, I can hear his voice. I can hear him say things like how much he cares about me. But that's my fantasies. And fantasies never come true. But they give you hope, and hope usually leads to a broken heart.

I drown out the silence and the fantasies with music. My MP3 player looks battered and bruised, despite being barely a year old.

Lyrics and melodies that reflect my mood whisk me off to sleep, usually late at night, or rather early the next morning.

But my dreams don't give me reprieve either.

He's always there.

.::: Part Two :::.

It's almost two years since we met. And when I say met, I mean really became friends.

That's what I thought we were. Friends, I mean.

But sometimes, I question the meaning of friendship. Because of him.

When he said that we were friends, did it mean that we talked? Or did it mean that we knew each other well? Or did it simply mean that we spent time together? Maybe it meant that we cared about each other, as friends?

That year where we were close was amazing. We were similar in terms of personality, our priorities, and our senses of humor. At least, I hope we were, and the perceived similarities weren't a product of my imagination.

We got along well. And as such, I believed that we were 'friends', in a sense.

My friendship. I wonder how much it meant to him.

.::: Part Three :::.

It's been six months since I last saw him. And in 4 days, it will be 10 months since we last spoke face to face.

The last time I saw him was at a conference for the incoming students. The girl who sat in front of me called his name, and he turned around and waved.

I saw him from the corner of my eye, because I turned around and looked down the moment he entered the gym. I didn't have to check if it was him. I knew. I spent a year talking to him, sitting behind him, sitting in front of him, sitting next to him. I knew exactly how he looked from every angle.

I didn't want him to see me. Not right then.

The last time we spoke was on the first day of school.

The last words were, "Who doesn't love shapes?" because I was off to geometry. I don't remember who said it; we both had the same sarcastic demeanor. Maybe it was him, maybe it was me. Or maybe it was both.

The next day, I made the decision to leave the school. I returned my textbooks, and I sat at the bus stop and watched, as students in what was supposed to be my homeroom walk away from the office. No one saw me. 32 people, including him, who could've turned around, but didn't.

And all the people I knew, all the people I thought were my friends, who could have asked me why I left, but didn't.

No one even asked me if I left. Nobody, except him.

.::: Part Four :::.

He emailed me a week later. It wasn't even a conversation.

All it said was, "You're not here anymore. Did you leave?"

To which I replied, "Yes."

That's it. Nothing else. Not a "Why?" or a "When?" or a "Where?" That was it.

If he had asked me why, he would've known. It was because I couldn't stand another year at that place. I barely made it through the first one, and I would've quit a lot sooner if it weren't for him. Because of how he cheered me up and talked to me despite my introverted nature.

About a month after that, his Facebook status read, "So upset that PyroSk8tX is leaving the skateboarding forum. :("

I've always found it a amusing in a twisted way that he was publicly upset that someone he didn't really know was 'leaving'. He didn't seem to give a damn about me. That's probably because he doesn't.

.::: Part Five :::.

Five months later, when I finally thought that I didn't care anymore, I stumble across his blog.

He talks about someone he names as "her". But everyone knows who it is.

It's obvious how he feels about her. Everything he writes about is her. Everything. But he writes that they can't be in a relationship; they can't go to the same schools together next year, and long distance relationships don't work.

I feel cold. I feel sick to my stomach. It's not jealousy.

It's sadness, and the pain was by far deeper than what I expected.

Funny. I never thought that I would describe sadness as "deep" or "shallow".

Funny how I still cared about him.


.::: Part Six :::.

I remember last summer.

Back when I still went to that school.

I was at the school during summer for a club activity. He rushes in the door, apologizing profusely for being late.

He's the boy that can play with Rubix Cubes, make lanyards, and indulge in some of the strangest hobbies, but everyone still flocks to him. He has charisma. Lots of it. He can be an asshole, but people would probably pay for his being a jerk, if he asks them to.

A month of not seeing him was a long time. His hair was longer. He had on clothes I've never seen before.

And I couldn't stop smiling. Seeing him made me so happy.

I felt like an idiot. But I couldn't stop staring after I saw him.

I tried to look away. And I managed - for about 5 seconds.

It was ok. Everyone was looking at him anyway.

.::: Part Seven :::.

Last week, I was at the library when someone caught my eye. A boy.

He was tall, unbelievably so. He was wearing a loose black t-shirt and a pair of jeans that were chronically too short for him.

Growth spurts, you know.

My mind blanked. And my heart twisted, the way it would when you are started. It hurt, in a sharp, gut-wrenching way. But it felt good, in a nostalgic way.

And then, I thought, "What was he doing in this library? He doesn't live in this town. He should be at the library a thirty minute drive from here."

Once my breathing returned to normal, I forced myself to think rationally.

Look. It isn't HIM. It's someone else. Someone who looked like him from far away.

God. I'm an idiot.

I can't get over a guy who's interested in someone else. I can't even get over him when I'm far, far away.

.::: Part Eight :::.

I'm over him. I'm over him. I'm over him. I never even cared about him at all.

Maybe if I repeat it to myself enough times, it will be true.

.::: Part Nine :::.

If you are interested in someone, the words "is in a relationship" are the last words you want to see on his profile.

Well damn.

First thing on the homepage.

I guess he decided she was worth a long-distance relationship.

It hurts.

It's not a sharp, stabbing pain to the chest.

Rather a numb, dull, throbbing feeling all over.

I'm glad he found someone that makes him feel the way I feel about him.

But hey, just because I'm glad doesn't mean I don't want to drown myself in tears.

.::: Finale :::.

What's love?

I can Google it, and ask all the people I want, but everyone will answer differently.

Am I in love with him?

Or is it a strong infatuation?

Some things I'll never be able to figure out.

Is it love when you're deliriously happy just to see someone?

Is it love when just being around him gets you drunk on his presence?

Is it called love when you're willing to give him up, because you know he's happier that way?

When you can't get him out of your head, not with time, not with others like him, is it love?

Welllll..... The ends. :3

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