Lachesism

Breathing is easy. That's where the saying 'It's as easy as breathing' comes from. But when you notice it. When you try to control it - that's when it becomes the most difficult thing in the universe.

I was only just sixteen and it was not so sweet and I thought I could never be happy. Emotions were my resistance and the illusion of strong friendship ties were my downfall.

He smelt of sweat from the summer heat, and the linger of vodka stained breath fanned across my face. The intensity of his azure eyes caused a pink hue to crawl across my cheek as he declared his want to be more than friends.

The stains that attached to our clothes were different; mine from dewy grass blades underneath my white shorts, his from a wayward splash of beer on the sleeve, but the stains on our bodies matched so perfectly, the purple love bites littered on our collarbones like constellations in the night sky.

But then I noticed.

I noticed my friends complete devotion and want for the boy in front of me. I noticed the anger in her eyes. I noticed my need for acceptance, the crippling fear of an ending friendship. I was the girl who dedicated a drawer in her closet to uneaten food. That girl wasn't ready to be loved, not when she couldn't even love herself.

So I pushed him away, laughed it off as a spontaneous liquor filled rendezvous, building walls, brick by brick towers, guarded myself from any attack against the heart.

He fought valiantly but in the end he couldn't see that I was in a place I didn't want to be, as my waistband sagged and my eyes grew weak, but he was never able to destroy the walls that were within me.

I looked for him in everyone. My lab partner had the same freckle under his left eye and I swear the guy in my chem class flicks his hair just the way he did. And if I remove my glasses and sit at the back of the lecture hall, the teachers assistant looks almost exactly like him... and almost is just enough to cause my heart to stutter. I know I should of moved on by now. But I can't help but delve into what if.

What if I was never friends with her.

What if we had met when I was ready to love.

What if just his love had been enough.

What if...

But thinking too much is what broke us.

and I wish I hadn't thought at all.

~22.02.14~

"I'm not creative enough to imagine someone as thought provokingly and wonderfully enigmatic as you."

"Because compared to you I haven't felt a single fucking thing in my life."

"We mistake lust for love so many more times than we really should, we create our own catastrophe - we devastate ourselves."

Entry for the #13ReasonsWhyContest