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Loving With Pride This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   It's very late right now and I can't sleep. There are uncontrollable tears. Yes, Mike, Haitians cry.

I can't help remembering all the times you were at my house, dinners we ate together. Actually there was only one dinner, but it seems like thousands. My house is haunted by memories of you, your loving eyes, your caring smile and your soft voice. In my room I stare at the spot where you lay when you were sleepy after long hours of fun. I wonder in the living room where you sat and looked at my baby pictures and made funny remarks.

I miss you and I hate myself for that. I try to tell myself I shouldn't, because you left me. You stopped being my friend after you found out I was Haitian.

I keep remembering asking you, "Would you stop being someone's friend because of race or background?" You looked at me, smiled, and said no. As if that was a silly question. I should have made you promise. I should have made you swear. Maybe that would have made you care. I often look out the window, hoping to see you. When I do see you, I fall to pieces. I stare at you, hoping you won't see me, because you might see me and turn away without saying hi. That would just tear my heart in two and make me cry like it has before. I still love you the same as I did then. I keep hoping you'll change and you'll love me again the way you did before you found out I was Haitian. I've already bought you all your presents for Christmas, Valentine's day, and your birthday. I often wonder if you'll ever get them, or if I will have to save them forever like the memories.

There will always bea special place in my heart for you. c


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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