Supernovas & Escapism

Chapter Thirty-Two

      I find myself needing someone like Sabrina right now.

     The girl who is more than just a carbon copy of what people expect her to be. The girl who chooses to defy expectations just because she wants too. The girl who loves me without ever needing me to love her back.

     There's a thought that runs through my mind. It's the one that reminds me that I'm not in love with this girl, and I'm an idiot for not being in love with her. Right now, she is everything I need, and everything I want to be; strong, bold, and cautiously optimistic. It's not wrong to want to be those things when you've been pretending to be those things for so long.

     Envy brings my brain to its knees, questioning why I can't be more like her.

     Years feel like they have gone by in the flash of an eye, but I know that when I open again, I'm going to be on this stupid sidewalk, looking at my stupid bloodied feet, wishing for a chance to be less of a stupid boy. Because at the end of the day, that is all that I am. I'm a stupid boy who makes these big grandiose statements with his movements but can never say them with his mouth.

     It's not the first time that I've thought to myself that I don't deserve a girl like her.

     She understands. Instead of approaching me face-on, she allows me space to grieve. With every turn of the season, she doesn't push, rather she gives way. And not once does she tell me that I'm in the wrong for being an asshole, even when I wish she would.

     Sabrina Valdez is a girl who is far too nice for a guy like me. How am I just realizing this now?

     There is a shift in the light, as shadows cross our hands together. Slowly, I look across and see she is now also seated on the concrete, just a few inches away from me. Her eyes are tracking the view in front of her, as cars pass by. Flashes of metallic silver and the deepest black go by at acceptable speeds. It's as if they can't see a boy whose heart is breaking and a girl who's about to get her heart broken. But I guess most people are oblivious to things when they only have a fraction of a second to react.

     "Do you want to talk?" she asks. Even right now, when I'm trying to hold back a flood, and heaving so viscerally that I might throw up at any given moment, she's asking the appropriate questions. She knows better than anyone that if we don't talk now, then we're never going to talk about this.

     I guess most of the blame on that falls on me and my incredibly shitty behavior.

      Knees tucked tight to chest, I lean my chin atop and just try and focus on getting air into my lungs, and the bad thoughts out of my head. They're stuck there; rooted through months of not talking. Weeds, that's what these thoughts are. Even when you think they're gone, they'll come back and multiply. Not even the suction power of the black hole that was my heart could rip them out permanently.

     I'd have to accept that forevermore I was stuck with a lifetime of bad thoughts. Maybe one day I'd have some sort of strength to find some sort of solution, but today was not going to be that day.