I didn’t know I was in love with her until she broke my heart. I relive the moment everytime I close my eyes, but I don’t just see it, I feel it. The butterflies morphing into hideous bees, the acid pumping from my heart and into every last corner of my being. Her trickling laughter in my ears, her windswept hair, her eyes. Her eyes.
     There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the morning was beautiful, yet my stomach twisted under the million possibilities running through my head. She had been out sick the day before, when I almost had to walk to school for forcing the bus driver to wait so long for her to come. She never came.
     I had never felt a loss so heavy that day, not getting to see her in class, not getting to watch her laugh with her friends. Not speaking to her and watching her smile. And so I decided I would ask her tomorrow, before getting to the bus stop, if she was okay.
My foot grazed the pavement as I slowed and stopped in front of the black metal gate, staring into the silent white house, trying to catch a glimpse of her. When she finally emerged, it took a moment for her to spot me, her blonde hair flying as she hopped down the steps and her eyes squinted cutely against the sun. Our eyes locked as she got to the gate, only its cool black metal between us, and she demanded to know why I was at her house. Once I had regained my ability to speak, I stammered my reply, and asked if she was okay. Her face changed completely, twisting so horribly that I apologized, feeling as if I had did something wrong. We walked in silence, nearly to the bus stop, until his car pulled up beside her, and she stopped. I stopped. My heart stopped.