She was an 'A' of awkward and 'M' of miserable. She was a 'D' of dumb and 'I' of immature. Too awkward to fit in, too miserable because she was dumb to see the true faces of people maybe because she was too immature. Mistakes and hence were made.
8 years ago, as I recall, I met her. Dressed in black pants and green top, with her hair tied as a bun, plump cheeks and petite. She was sitting alone in her classroom seat. Hiding from everyone. I met her there, but before I could talk to her, her friend came looking for her through the doors. As I noticed this guy, with shoulder-length dirty, uncombed hair, dark skin, and a round face with lips that smoked, he reached out to her and sat beside her in silence. From that day on, he became her best friend.
But life is not a fairy tale........ Some best friends stay, some best friends fall apart, some best friends are just not really best friends until the end, and some, no matter how much we try to keep, go away.
At her home, lying by her bed, she reads her phone. I could tell, she was surprised yet it was not hard to tell she saw it coming. She was not sure how to react. She looked confused and worried. Losing someone so dear to you makes you do things, otherwise you wouldn't do. So did she,that night. A decision that changed her life. Some best friends are meant to be just friends, some are meant to be lovers. For her it was the former, for him it was the latter.
A month into it, she was getting irritated. A month into it, he was getting miserable. Irritated was she, because she was not into him. Miserable was he, because she did not treat him right.
It could still have been a happy story though, but she was the "I" of immature and he was the "I" of insecure and they were nowhere near "T" of trust, they were only "M" of misunderstanding.
He was mad because he thought she lied to him, she was furious because he wrongly trusted the accusations, she never said a word to correct him, and he never said a word to ask her why. For him, silence was his power, for her silence was her revolt.
Yet, she hopes maybe one day she could tell him what really had happened. No judgment. Like the others did. Yet she hopes, he'll understand despite his friends telling him otherwise.
And here I am, eyeing over the stories of others, and here I am, trying to make stories of him and her, two pigs, pink and black as they fondly liked calling each other. While they move on far ahead into their future, here I am prying and looking. Looking. Searching. Finding. Reaching. Reaching out.
8 years ago, as I recall, I met her. Dressed in black pants and green top, with her hair tied as a bun, plump cheeks and petite. She was sitting alone in her classroom seat. Hiding from everyone. I met her there, but before I could talk to her, her friend came looking for her through the doors. As I noticed this guy, with shoulder-length dirty, uncombed hair, dark skin, and a round face with lips that smoked, he reached out to her and sat beside her in silence. From that day on, he became her best friend.
But life is not a fairy tale........ Some best friends stay, some best friends fall apart, some best friends are just not really best friends until the end, and some, no matter how much we try to keep, go away.
At her home, lying by her bed, she reads her phone. I could tell, she was surprised yet it was not hard to tell she saw it coming. She was not sure how to react. She looked confused and worried. Losing someone so dear to you makes you do things, otherwise you wouldn't do. So did she,that night. A decision that changed her life. Some best friends are meant to be just friends, some are meant to be lovers. For her it was the former, for him it was the latter.
A month into it, she was getting irritated. A month into it, he was getting miserable. Irritated was she, because she was not into him. Miserable was he, because she did not treat him right.
It could still have been a happy story though, but she was the "I" of immature and he was the "I" of insecure and they were nowhere near "T" of trust, they were only "M" of misunderstanding.
He was mad because he thought she lied to him, she was furious because he wrongly trusted the accusations, she never said a word to correct him, and he never said a word to ask her why. For him, silence was his power, for her silence was her revolt.
Yet, she hopes maybe one day she could tell him what really had happened. No judgment. Like the others did. Yet she hopes, he'll understand despite his friends telling him otherwise.
And here I am, eyeing over the stories of others, and here I am, trying to make stories of him and her, two pigs, pink and black as they fondly liked calling each other. While they move on far ahead into their future, here I am prying and looking. Looking. Searching. Finding. Reaching. Reaching out.
Comments
Post a Comment