Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

...He asked. I answered...

Custom User Avatar
More by this author

"What is love?" He asked me. I stared into the sunset, thinking of an answer. We sit up there, on the roof of my shed.

He turns to look at mr, his eyes, pleading for an answer. But my eyes never leave the sun.

"Love? Who the f***, knows what love is." I reply.

You see, us human beings of the universe, have many meanings of love.

We call abuse love. We call looks love. We call violence love. We call needs love.

But in all reality, we don't know what love is.

What is love? My question to you. What do you call this emotion? How do you show this emotion? Why is that emotion considered love?

His chocolate brown eyes, never leaving me, "I-I think I know what love is," he says.

This catches my attention. I turn to him,my dark, cold, brown eyes, catching his light, cheerful ones. His lips are parted as he stares at me.

I furrow my brows at him, "Do you mean you have your version of love?" I ask, my voice holding curiosity.

He shrugs his shoulders, "Maybe? I don't know." He then, turns his head back to the sunset.

"There are so little things I call beautiful."
I smirk, "You call everything beautiful."

He sighs, while looking down at the dirt, of Arizona soil.

"What is your version of love?" I ask this time.

His attention turns back to me, amusment holding his eyes, "You'll know soon enough."

I only nod, after all, I didn't believe in love then.

 

It was only a year later, when we sat at the cold ramps of the skatepark. It's December, but it never snows, even though the tempurature drops.

"What is love?" He asks again.

I sigh, "Again with this question?" I state.

He takes my hand, hoping so I take the hint.

Warmth. I felt it. I didn't want to admit it. I was afraid. I didn't like it.

"Because, I believe I am in love." He says, confidently.

I close my eyes, "How can you say that if you've never experienced it."

"Because whenever I see that certain person, I get tingles and butterflies. It feels amazingly weird," he pauses, then continues, "I feel, differemt, warm."

My heart starts racing, my cheeks are warm. I look at him, the boy right beside.

"I want to know how to feel that." I say.

 

Another year has passed, and I see him, with another girl. He's whispering in her ear, and she smiles, and giggles.

I feel knots in my stomach. Jealousy?

My hands are sweaty, and then he sees me. Tears are streaming down my face. Love is stupid.

"What is love?" I whisper. As I finish the question, I start sobbing.

His eyes, show hurt, and mines, show coldness and remorse.

"I waited! 3 years is enough!" He shouts as the girl runs away.

 

I now sit on the roof, holding cigarettes and lighters.

"What is love?"

"What is love?"

"What is love?!"

I shout at myself. My eyes are holding tears, and my head, hold questions.

 

"What is love?"




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback