Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

The Curse of Being a Romantic

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
The woody twang of guitar strings fill my room and make my eyes string. I sit on my bed and let the music fill my head and let the tears form in my eyes. Random papers and other little odds and ends spill out of an over turned converse box lay at the end of my bed. I pick up a crumpled piece of paper with scribbles coating the blue lined page. The tears start to fall down my cheeks, then splashing down onto my deep purple shirt, his favorite shirt.


Dear Jane,
I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I’m so happy that you are my girlfriend. You make me so happy. : ) I’ve realized now that all I want to do it make you happy, because you mean sooo much to me. I’ll see you at lunch.
I miss you.



Benjamin
P.S. You looked really pretty today, I could barely concentrate in Calc, haha.

Silently, the tears fall and I close my eyes tight trying my hardest to make them stop. They don’t. Again I pick up the crumpled note and read it over. Just seeing his handwriting, the words he wrote to me, and remembering I was thinking then that there could be no way he could be lying. It’s only now that I can’t figure it out, was he lying to me that time he wrote me that note? Did he really just want to make me happy? Was that his main priority? If it was then he failed, he broke me. He wrote me that note only three days before he broke up with me, tearing off a pick of my heart when he told me, let’s just be friends. I sit on my bed and hear the guitar, his guitar, strumming the strings into a beautiful melody that reminded him of me.
Why do I do this to myself? I think, I can remember every moment we had together, every touch, every hug, every look, every kiss. Why is it that when I get just a little bit lonely and I break down I crawl into my closet and pull out the darn box. I put all of the notes, all of the little things that remind me of him in that box so I won’t have to see them around, but somehow I end up with them spread in my bed listening to the CD crying my eyes outs. I don’t get it, why do I do this to myself?
I suppose that it really wouldn’t be that bad if I did it once or twice, but I do it almost every week. And I guess it wouldn’t matter if it just happened a week ago, but it’s been 2 months. I can’t get over him…he has a girlfriend and I can’t get over him.
The strumming comes to an end and a different melody begins. Crazier. The tears start to fall harder and I let out an audible sob. It was our song. Only after a few chords I’m taking back into my memory.

“Do we get a song?” I ask laughing, trying to get him to stop tickling me.
“Of course, we get a song. What do you think it should be?” he asks with a big smile on his face.
“Well, this is gonna take some time to figure it out,” I tell him. “This is a very important song to pick,” I say, ending the sentence with a tone of importance.
I reach down off the couch for my Ipod and turn it on to the playlist that reminds me of him, titled Be’Jamin. I turn the screen towards him and scroll down the list.
“Wait,” he whispers in my ear. Moving his hand over mine he scrolls it up to “Crazier” by Taylor Swift. “This one,” he tells me quiet in my ear.
“Why that one?” I ask, turning to him confused.
“Because I know that it’s your favorite and it reminds me of you. Don’t you remember when we talked on Halloween and all you were doing was quoting Taylor Swift?”
Blushing, I nod.
“That’s why,” he says with a smile, pulling me closer. “Because when I think of Taylor Swift, or hear a Taylor Swift song, I think of you. You, and your smile and your freckles and your beauty, everything. Jane, I like you so much.”
He pulls me in for a kiss and I smile.

I drag myself out of the memory before it over takes me. I push away the note and curl around my pillow and sob. Hot, angry tears spill down my face and onto my pillow. I’m not crying because he isn’t mine anymore, I’m crying because I can’t get over him. I have tried everything but move away to get over him. Ignore him, talk to him, befriend him, treat him like an enemy. Nothing works because every time I go to bed I pray that he will come throwing rock at my window begging for me back. Nothing works because I am a romantic, and because of that little fact everything has to have a happy ending, but there is no happy ending in sight for me.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback