A Boy Named Ryan (why I hate where I live)

I knew, from the moment I saw him, that I would love him, even if it killed me. Once, a long time ago, I could’ve sworn my life to the fact that we’d be together forever. Look where that got me…heartbroken (I broke my own heart….at least I’m good at something.). But hey, let’s start at the beginning, work our way to the end huh?
The first and last times I saw him were eerily similar. Both times, he was standing alone, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Although, the last time I saw him, he wasn’t making eye contact because of me.
The first conversation we had was a dare, from my dear and well meaning friend Sara. We exchanged, maybe all of two words, nothing more beyond names. But, by the end of the weekend we were all forced to share together, we had become good friends (I jokingly called him “Papa”). But soon, we forgot about each other. We would both assume the other would forget that spark we felt when we held each other, we would assume that we would never see the other again. And we were fine with assuming…until we saw each other again.
When I saw him again, I almost died. He smiled that perfect smile and I melted. I stopped my friend while she was talking to me and she followed my eyes to his face. “Who’s the bod?” she asked
“Bod?”
“Well, he’s hot, so I assume he’s dumb, you know…A bod…”
“HE’S SMART! Don’t talk about him like that!!” she immediately backed off.
“Well….go talk to him!” I quickly looked down and blushed
“No, I couldn’t possibly…I mean….I knew him once...A long time ago.”
After a few months, I did finally talk to him, but I never told him I never once forgot about him. Infact, I saw him in the face of everyone I tried to become intimate with, he made me forget how to love meaninglessly, and I still hate him for that.
He wooed me for several months before he asked to be my ‘boyfriend’ it took three months of our relationship for our first kiss, but I didn’t mind having someone who thought of me above all else. Here, a little story in a monologue for you:



The first time he came over to my house, was the last time he came over. We talked about everything and nothing. We went outside and I silently watched the show my mother had on the big screen. An unakward silence filled both of us and the space we occupied. I think that above everything else scared me, causing me to shiver. He wrapped his arms around me, and asked me a question, which I turned towards him to answer. He calmly slid my cheek into his hand, and pressed his warm lips against mine. I thought I should have died then, my life being so complete.
But our love wasn’t the kind of thing I could keep for long. No, I was the one who killed it. We had a misunderstanding one day, and I used it as the reason to lie to him. To tell him I didn’t love him anymore. That I never did. And now, I sit here, in a town I despise with people I can’t relate to, wondering….what if. What if?





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