The Meaning in Your Eyes

May 18, 2011
By Chelsea7Noel GOLD, N. Tonawanda, New York
Chelsea7Noel GOLD, N. Tonawanda, New York
15 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Scars remind us where we've been, but they don't dictate where we're going.

The clock reads 9:50. Fifteen minutes left, you can do this.
Why is it that this class seems to be longer than any other period of the day?
Physics class, very predictable: notes, packet, lab or test. Today was a packet day, and that meant down time, down time that is toxic to my fragile heart.

This class was used to be my favorite of the day because 7 of us are on the track team, 2 of which were my best friends. There’s something special about having a best guy friends, no girl drama. And that is Matt. But the other thing about having guy friends is that you’re more susceptible to fall in love with them. . . James.

When we were together, everything felt so right. We had the spark and instead of a flame we had a fire.
And now. . . now I’m completely numb.

The classroom is filled with voices but my ears are fixed on the precise tone of only one. His voice is all I hear. “Em”

My heart is punctured with the sharp pain yet again. Lungs heavy, it’s hard for me to breathe. NO, he didn’t say your name. He doesn’t want to talk to you.

“Emily,” he said again, my mind is cluttered with the memories all at once.
I look up and clench my hands around my chair in an attempt to try and control my involuntary jump at the sound of him saying my name. “Yeah?”
“Did you draw that?” pointing to a sketch of an eye I had on my desk
“Oh, yeah…just in one of my art classes” He leaned over Matt’s desk and picked it up. He stared at it with such depth, fixated in admiration, the same stare we once held for hours at a time His eyes holding mine, loosing track of time…
“Wow Em, this is really good.“ He smiles at me and I should feel something, happiness. . . or butterflies . . . and yet, I feel nothing. Nothing but the physical pain I feel in my chest, never fading, never ceasing, always there.
Whoever created the term “broken heart” was much to correct for my liking, it’s not figurative language. My heart broke the day he ended what we had. To the depths of my being I wish I could say this pain I feel is figurative, but it’s not. I feel as though I will never let my heart be open, for I never want to lose what I had.

The bell rings, and I realize I didn’t say anything still. His eyes glaze over and loose all depth for a reason I don’t yet comprehend. He hands me my drawing and standing he starts conversation I don’t quite zero in on with Matt. I rip my gaze away and gather my books up. Looking down teardrops fell from my eyes onto the desk. He must’ve seen my eyes tear up, great.

I sit in my chair for a moment, frozen in time, until I’m the only one left. And In this empty room the irony hits me. I’m alone.

I’m alone and I want to be loved but I will never let anyone in. I want him back, him alone and no one else. So let my fate begin.

The author's comments:
A poem I wrote (Pain.) is incorporated into this piece.

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