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A Broken Heart In Three Acts

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CURTAIN UP: Act One, Scene One

“Ohmigosh,
he’s so cute!”
You say,
and instantly it’s
crush-central.
No one understands,
not even you.
But you don’t care
’cus he’s the apple
of your eye.

Act One, Scene Two
You’re nervous
to tell him.
You’re scared
of his reaction.
Yes—
no—
maybe?
You don’t know,
and your friends
say the same.

Act One, Scene Three
You get a tiny push—
and you try to
compress it—
but it doesn’t work.
A spur-of-the-moment
burst of adrenalin
makes you open
your mouth:
“I like you.”
And he keeps nodding,
but then he stops.
Mid-nod—
mid-sentence—
mid-step.
“Oh,” his eyes pop open
in realization.
Your heart sinks
right to the floor.

CURTAIN DOWN, INTERMISSION

CURTAIN UP: Act Two, Scene One
You freak out
all weekend long,
about what Monday morning
will bring.
Will he hate me?
Will he not care?
Your BFF says it’s the latter,
but you’re not so sure…
“But he’s a guy!” you argue,
and you keep
freaking out
once more.

Act Two, Scene Two
Monday arrives.
“Hi,” you say nervously,
and he returns it stiffly.
He’s so weirded out!
your thoughts scream.
He’ll never be
my friend
again.
or so you think.

Act Two, Scene Three
“It’s okay,” he says at lunch.
“we’re still friends.”
Your heart soars—
your smile spreads—
and you want to sing out
(badly)
with joy.
“Thanks!” you say warmly,
and he returns your smile.
Your worries fade…
you think everything’s alright…
but you’re wrong.

Act Three, Scene One
Things go great
for a while.
Then he starts
to drift away,
and you start to worry
all over
again.
Did he change his mind?
What did I do?
What should I do?
You ask yourself—
and then your friends—
but you all draw up
blank.

Act Three, Scene Two
Then he returns.
You don’t know why,
you don’t really care,
’cus he’s back.
You get along great—
talk endlessly—
and you think things
are back to normal.
(Or whatever that was
to begin with…)
And you don’t suspect
a thing…

Act Three, Scene Three
“Hey,
can we talk,
this afternoon,
after school?”
Your heart does backflips,
as you say “Yes!”
But when the time comes—
you never readied yourself
for—
“I feel sorry for you,
because I like someone else.”
He says, and your anger flares.
(You saw it coming,
but that doesn’t hit
until post-retort.)
“Save your pity for someone else,
’cus I don’t need it!”
And you walk away.
Then suddenly—
you find yourself
head-over-heels
for your science partner.





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