School is so much fun. I love my classes. Even when it’s 8am and I’m drinking yesterday’s coffee, I’m still happy to be there. I can’t wait to open my knife kit and get creative with whatever is in the coolers to make a platter of hors de ou’vres.
But you know what? Tuesdays are a slump for me. I hate dragging into garde manger on Wednesdays because I can’t get stupid thoughts out of my head.
Stupid thoughts of what, you ask?
My pseudo-ex.
I saw you today in baking capstone. I made an obvious point to walk over to your station and talk to you. I could’ve stayed at the girls’ stations the whole time, but no. I wanted to talk to you.
I. AM. STUPID.
Did I really think I could get by with making polite conversation with you? Yeah. I did. And was proved horrendously WRONG. It’s six hours later and our conversation is still on replay-edit-replay in my head.
When I needed a Sharpie to mark my dough and my friend didn’t have one, I had to ask you. I think my soul shuddered a little when I brushed your arm with my shaking fingers to get pull the marker out of your jacket. I couldn’t help but notice that you looked like you shook on the inside too.
When I touched you, you turned your head away and did this short, sharp intake of breath.
Do I really have the same affect on you as you do me? When we had that awkward conversation the second week I was back, you told me you were “like that” (down, depressed, broken hearted) “for like two weeks, but you just gotta move on and ignore your feelings”.
O. M. GEEEZ! You make no sense at all! One second you say trust your feelings, next you say ignore them completely. Sometimes you talk like a girl. Really, you do!
I sat in the hallway, waiting for you. I gave myself the excuse that I was waiting for my friend to text me back. But that wasn’t really why I sat there. I was hoping to talk…no…hear your voice again.
Driving home I thought about suicide. About ending it all so neither of us will have to deal with the other; ever again. I ride on such a frakked-up high when I’m around you, then I come crashing down because conscience is screaming “WRONG. STOP BEING SO STUPID.” No, it doesn’t bother me that much that your gorgeous hair is gone. You still put me in a trance when I’m near you. Your memory still refuses to give me peace when I listen to certain songs or bands.
Remember how I ignored your question “Why are you listening to rap?” Here’s why: It doesn’t remind me of you. Rap has nothing to do with us or the times we shared. So I can listen to it and not be tortured on the inside. It doesn’t remind me of you, so I can listen to it without having to think about wanting to cry, or punch something or jump off a bridge.
You know what? Sometimes I just really want to get drunk at The Mine and call you and make you come down there so I can give you a piece of my mind, and tell you just how pissed off and sorry I am. I want you to know that I’m not taking it all in stride. I just look like I am. I always look like I’m taking it in stride. I didn’t let anyone see me falling apart on my floor. I don’t let anyone see me lying awake at night like an insomniac, unable to stop thinking of you.
In the words of Ani DeFranco:
“Fuck you and your beautiful face.”
I want to be completely over you. I don’t want to be drug down into a slump just because I see you and talk to you. So please. Just finish up your stuff and get out of this school. Don’t fail classes, don’t take some over in NR, don’t stretch out your time here. Just go.
Leave me to heal so if I see you in the future I can face you with real strength.
- PoetryGirl
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Random Posts
\Leave me to heal so if I see you in the future I can face you with real strength.\
/ this is not going to happen if you keep doing this: /
\I made an obvious point to walk over to your station and talk to you. I could’ve stayed at the girls’ stations the whole time, but no. I wanted to talk to you.\ or this: \I sat in the hallway, waiting for you.\
\making polite conversation\ is just your way of trying to show him you’re fine without him, that everything is just hunky-dory. obviously, you are not. you WANT to be so badly. and you will be once you don’t have to see him on what seems like a daily or weekly basis.
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Ya. I agree. The week of March 14th can’t come soon enough. Oh, and I misquoted the song. It’s:
“Fuck you and your untouchable face.”
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