I wish you knew how much I still think of you, how much I still love you.
"Te'amore, what is this?" a sharp deep voice interrupted my brooding.
"It's a narrative that you told us to write," I calmly replied to my English teacher.
"Yes, yes I do know that dear. It's just every time I tell you to write me a narrative it's the same negative theme!" his voice roared in frustration.
I tried to look him dead in the eye but I felt too vulnerable at that moment. I felt all eyes of the students on me. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Maybe lighten up a little. I'm giving you two weeks... no wait make that three weeks to re-write this," he handed me my narrative that was written on a number of pages.
I sighed, "Yea, whatever." and turned on my heel. I ignored everyone's stare and sat back in my chair. I felt like I could read everybody's minds in the room. Probably thinking stuff like, 'why is she so depressing?', 'it's just the clothes that she's wearing', 'she needs to get herself a boyfriend', 'she needs to get a life'.
Maybe I do need to get a life.
I watched the clock that was placed in the front of the room for the next few minutes. The teacher was trying to cram up a few more homeworks to kill our weekend time. I wasn't listening, I wasn't in the mood to do anything. I just wanted the school bell to ring and then welcome the weekend with open arms. I needed a break, and the only way I could get a break would be drinking a whole lot of alcohol. Yea, you can call me an alcoholic.
The sweet sound of the school bell rang in my ears and I smiled deeply. I felt calm and free. I slowly shoved my books in my backpack and made my way out of the classroom. Everyone around were all energetic as they tried to rush out of the school building. Why rush? We've got a whole weekend ahead of us.
I loved the feeling of walking into an empty house. No parents trying to ask how your day went and no kids being loud. Just some peace and quiet. I walked into my room and chucked my bag to the side. Plugging my ipod into the stereo it started to shuffle my songs. I shrugged, I normally didn't like shuffle but I wasn't bothered to change it.
You said this could only get better
There's no rush 'cause we have each other
You said this would last forever
But now I doubt if I was your only lover...
I started to panic as I tried to press the stop button, I failed and dropped the stereo on the hard wooden floor. The song stopped playing. I sat there panting and sweating. My eye sight twitched and my fingers grabbed a hold of my hair. Everythings okay, everythings fine. It's only a song. It shouldn't remind you of her. It's been two months. Move on!
I shook my head in defeat and let my tears which were trapped in my eyes flow down my cheek freely. I crawled to the other side of my bed and open the bottom draw. Pulling out a small photo from underneath a pile of junk I sat down and looked at the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in the photograph. Her soft looking brown hair fell around her face and her gorgeous hazel eyes stared back at me. I bit my bottom lip and let out a sob, why couldn't I move on? Was it that hard to get over your ex-girlfriend of only three months? It couldn't be.
"I love you Cassie," I whispered to the photo. "I love you so much! I wish I could show you how much I do! I wish you could take me back! Please take me back. I wish you knew that you're always on my mind. I need you so much. You're my light in my life..."
I am crazy.
I hugged my knees and let myself cry hysterically. I needed it. I haven't cried over her for two whole days. I needed to cry just to fake my happiness again.
Cassandra Davis, my one and only. The love of my life. We were together for thirteen weeks, and in that thirteen weeks I've fallen in love with her, I gave my all to her and now she left me... telling me she doesn't love me anymore. It was hard to believe because she was heads over heels for me. But as they say, all good things come to an end. Our relationship ended merely two months ago and I've been crying every time I can. I've been an emotional wreck. She was the one who brought happiness to my life and was the one to take it from me. I hate it. I bet she's never thought of me since she dumped me. I bet she doesn't even miss me. Why would she? I'm pathetic anyway.
I pulled out the now crinkled pages of my narrative for English. It was about her, the story portrayed her. I saw it as a wonderful depressing story. I couldn't see why other people didn't see it like that. I folded the papers and hid it in my draw, just like I did with her photo.
That night, just like every night I wished for her to love me again. I knew it was a waste of time, but I didn't care.