Dusty Love

January 23, 2012
By Anonymous

I remember the first time you knew me.
We were at a family camp, with my brothers boy scout troop. It was early in the morning, and I didn't think to bring any heavy coats. I sat freezing by the campfire, huddled as close to it as I could manage without melting my tattered converse. Arms clenched around myself tight, I felt a warm something draped over my shoulders. I glanced behind me, and sure enough. There you were. Hurriedly I shoved my hands into the too-long purple sleeves. I wore the sweater to bed, and the next day when you had to leave for some far-off land, I sprayed it with cotton candy perfume, praying you would think of me on your trip. As I regretfully handed over the sweater, I thanked you for the thousandth time, but you just shrugged it off, claiming it to be no big deal. Because lots of girls wore that sweater. I smiled, and walked back to my tent, while silently screaming. Was I just "another girl?" would you really think of me, or would you stutter over my name, struggling to remember if it's spelled with a c or a k?
I remember the first time I admitted to loving you.
We were whispering sweet nothings to each other on a crumpled piece of blue lined paper.
I don't remember what we were talking about, but I looked you as close in the eyes as I could get, and whispered "I love you" but scared you would turn down my simple request, I laughed it off and told you that because I loved you, you should've saved a seat for me the Sunday before.
I remember the first time I told you that, somewhere lost in my being, was just a simple girl who wanted nothing more than a kiss from you. You looked at me sideways, and said that really, all you wanted was a kiss from a simple girl-because they're always the sweetest.
I remember the first time you held my hand. Stashed away under a coat, hiding from judgmental parents, and pastors talking on a stage-with a birds eye view.
We fumbled around for a moment, neither of us quite sure what to do. But, after a minute or so, we fell into perfection. Your hand, wrapped around mine. I was scared to let go, I was scared to loose you.
I remember the first time I showed you my scars.
I waited for you to scream.
To leave.
To point out the brand new red lines dotting my wrist.
Instead, you promised you wouldn't tell a soul.
I remember the many times you broke my heart.
You and those blue eyes. I know you don't know this but, they pierce my soul. They see what others mistake as a bad week, or lack of REM sleep. But as many times as you broke my heart...I will never forget the time I broke yours.
The pain I caused you.
The agony that I could feel in your voice, cracking over a stale telephone line.
The tears that I knew silently ran down your ice kissed cheeks.
You wanted to make me choose, but...how can I choose between someone that I've been waiting for, for two years, and someone I had been waiting for, for so much longer?...with failed tries, heartbreaks, and the cause of a suicide attempt?
You wanted me to hurt.
You said that I wouldn't have to hear from you for a very long time, and despite my pitiful cries of despair...you said you were leaving to die.
You said it as if you were waiting for tickets to California.
I never believed you would leave.
I couldn't let you leave.
I cried.
I tried making you understand that, I can't choose!
Many tears later, you said that you were a terrible person. And that you never wanted to hurt me.
You said that you didn't deserve me anyways.
You said that I was better off without you.
And, that's what I tell myself now.
That's what I've come to halfway believe.
I see you now, but you're no longer you.
You're a ghost.
You talk and laugh, but when I walk up, and try to laugh with you...the color drains from your face.
You turn, and leave me in your tracks.

My eyes follow you.

I wish I could scream at you.

I wish you would look at me.

I wish you still loved me.

I wish that I could love you, the way you once loved me.

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