Another morning. Another weekday. Another day at college, with the two of us sitting in the same classroom, pretending not to see or know each other. Life sucks. Always has, always will. You just made it worse…
Hours, even days, come and go. And you don’t bother to think about what you should do about me, let alone for me.
I see you as I walk towards the class with my friends. Despite everything I might have told you, these girls are my friends. They are there for me. They do whatever I ask them to. They feel bad for me. They feel happy for me. They cry with me. They laugh with me. They hurt with me. They have fun with me.
Right now, they’ve just had breakfast with me!
You’re busy with your cell phone. Sending me a text-message?
You are! You’re asking me if I want to go to rent DVDs after the class.
Despite everything I just told you, I’m more loyal to you than to my girls.
We’ve made plans to go shopping after the class. But I cancel on them in a flash. To go with you. To be with you. For about fifteen minutes. I do it anyway.
But we have to sit through the class first. It’s another foolish day of the students giving presentations of their teaching skills and methods. I hate to be there. I’m not a teacher. Never going to be one either. The job isn’t my thing. I have no passion, no patience, and no understanding for it. You know all these. But the selfish inconsiderate man in you takes over again. You have to ask me to be next, in the professor’s presence! You have to get him interested in seeing me teach!
It’s supposed to be voluntarily; but he’s upset as I refuse:
- There are marks for the presentation, you understand.
- Sir, is it a threat or a bribe?
The class explodes in laughter. But it doesn’t help me out. Maybe it even makes the old man more stubborn. I have to give in now. But I hate your guts more than ever for it.
That’s why I keep telling you that I had to cancel my plans with the girls for you on the way. And I now realize that no matter how many times I explain to you that it’s my cry for love and attention, you get angry again. You, you’re so lost when it comes to understanding normal women!
We get our movies bad-temperedly. We walk out.
- I parked the bike down the street. You wanna walk with me?
- If you want me to.
- Do you think of saying that beforehand, or does it just pop out?!?
We stop to talk for a few minutes. I need to tell you how cold and distant you’re growing. I just don’t know how.
- Will you be upset if I find a boyfriend?
You don’t reply. You smirk. You look everywhere but not at me. Your face loses some of its dark color under the ugly beard. You want to pretend you don’t care so desperately.
- Are we seeing other people now?
I don’t have to answer that!
- I mean, I know that I already am. But I still have some roots, strong roots, in your heart; don’t I?
My turn to turn white. I don’t know what pains me most; the fact that you know how much I love you, or that you don’t love me back that much.
I touch my chest. It’s healing well. But it still hurts a little. And you’re there to observe it. You still don’t know for sure that it’s a cut though. You have your doubts; but I insist that it’s just a pimple! Do you actually believe that lousy lie?!?
- It’s a new cut, isn’t it?
- No! No! Are you crazy?
- You were showing it off the other day. But, why there?
You have no clue that I did it on Molly’s birthday.
You’re teaching the class. You’re focused on getting the students involved. Right now one is reading the short story you’re teaching. And I’m focused on you. I want to talk to you. To meet you in private. To make love to you.
My fingertips get wet. Warm and wet. I look down. I’m doing it again. I have my nails in the cuts on my chest. I try to cover them up with the Band-Aid again. When I look back up, I see you’re watching me. There’s wrath and pain and regret in your eyes. I’m scared of what you’ll do to me if you find me alone anytime soon…
And to think that I dare say to you when the class is over:
- Your way of teaching is fake, as is everything else about you!
I simply disregard the fact that you’re trying to get the truth about my chest out of me. The good thing about forgetful men is that they don’t get it when women change the subject!
I go back to telling you that it’s hard to believe you still care about me.
These days, I always go back to the day you said you didn’t love me. Will you ever be able to make that up to me? Will you ever be able to wipe that memory off my mind? Will you?
- How was the birthday sex by the way?
It makes you laugh again. It is quite amusing for you why I think of things which upset me more instead of trying to be happy.
- I still care. It sucks that I can’t talk to you and meet you and be with you as much as I’d like to. But the problem is that I run out of plans for getting out of my flat.
- To me, it seems like you run out of the will to try.
- No! It’s nothing like that. I just lack the perseverance.
- You have given up on me! On us!
Two shiny drops of tears run down my cheeks. That’s one thing I never run out of. Not these days.
We have to say goodbye. I’m the first one to move. I’ve taken a few steps away from you when you call me back to you:
- Hey, hey. Come back here. I wanna tell you something.
I walk back. You grab my arm to pull me close. I, of course, don’t resist. You whisper in my ear:
- Be good, my Chica.
Why do I feel you just use that line as an alibi to have me close?
I feel you’re smelling my perfume, my shampoo, my body, again. I feel you’re fingers are pressing my arm, like that very first night. I feel you’re trying to have me close, keep me close. I know you’re against public displays of affection. I know you have to, because you’re married. I feel you can’t simply hug me and kiss me; you have to come up with something like that to get me close enough.
I feel your body heat through your clothes and mine. I feel your pain and love, your loss and sorrow, your passion and desire, in the broken voice that whispers in my ear. It’s just a simple short sentence. But I hear a lot in it. That’s why I kiss you on the cheek before I pull away. Sweetheart, I wish things were different too...
You’re leaving me alone way too much. For my happiness. For your own good. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know how my mind works? Don’t you expect an e-mail or two, like these?
Hey Boss,
I don't even know why I'm writing to you. You sure as hell don't wanna be with me anymore. And I understand that. We had a deal. I begged you to stay with me till my fucking birthday. You gave in. the birthday is over now. So is your commitment to me I see. Why didn't I see it coming?
You don't come to talk to me at college anymore. You don't call me a number of times a day anymore. You don't go to bed early to message me anymore. You don't message me at all anymore. You simply don't care I guess.
Why do I love you so desperately still?
You don't meet me. You don't call me. You don't talk to me. You’re not with me. You don't make love to me. You don't love me. These are all the facts that I need to know.
You’re getting away, you're leaving, you're... I don't know. What are you doing? I'm still waiting for you to say the things that I need to hear in person. Will I? Will I ever?
And I'm not scared of you leaving me anymore. You have already left. It used to be a nightmare. It’s a simple fact now. Like the fact that I'm the loneliest, most miserable I've ever been. Like the fact that I'm dead inside, though I pretend to live for your sake. Like the fact that...
And I don't even need to curse you. How can I want to hurt you more than you already are? What can I wish for that can possibly be worse than what you have to live through every day?
You’re just so deep in; you don't see or feel it anymore.
Your life, hell on earth.
Your future, as dark as the depths of my heart.
Your heart, as empty and dead as my soul.
Your soul, as dead as my body.
Will you cut and burn and harm yourself physically, for what you do to me? Or is your heart so cold, your soul so dead, that you'll forget me in no time? Will your life ever be the same, go back to normal, or was the love you once felt for me real enough to keep me on your mind forever?
Or will you come back to me for a few more weeks?
You sure don't need me to curse you.
I need you to have some peace...
Bye
And then, hours later:
Hey Boss,
Just writing to thank you. For today. For today, finally, you said how things were.
It's not your lack of perseverance that prevents you from trying to call or meet me. It's your lack of interest.
You don't even care if I'm with someone else, because you simply don't care.
Why should I love you?
Why do I love you?
I'm deleting the chapters I've written.
I'm burning whatever helps me remember you.
I'll acid-wash the skin you've touched, you've kissed.
I'll cut my tongue out not to tell you that I love you anymore.
I'll cut my heart open not to love you anymore.
Thanks for coming out with the truth.
That day, when you said you didn't love me,
That was the bitter truth...
Peace,
Ch…
Hours, even days, come and go. And you don’t bother to think about what you should do about me, let alone for me.
I see you as I walk towards the class with my friends. Despite everything I might have told you, these girls are my friends. They are there for me. They do whatever I ask them to. They feel bad for me. They feel happy for me. They cry with me. They laugh with me. They hurt with me. They have fun with me.
Right now, they’ve just had breakfast with me!
You’re busy with your cell phone. Sending me a text-message?
You are! You’re asking me if I want to go to rent DVDs after the class.
Despite everything I just told you, I’m more loyal to you than to my girls.
We’ve made plans to go shopping after the class. But I cancel on them in a flash. To go with you. To be with you. For about fifteen minutes. I do it anyway.
But we have to sit through the class first. It’s another foolish day of the students giving presentations of their teaching skills and methods. I hate to be there. I’m not a teacher. Never going to be one either. The job isn’t my thing. I have no passion, no patience, and no understanding for it. You know all these. But the selfish inconsiderate man in you takes over again. You have to ask me to be next, in the professor’s presence! You have to get him interested in seeing me teach!
It’s supposed to be voluntarily; but he’s upset as I refuse:
- There are marks for the presentation, you understand.
- Sir, is it a threat or a bribe?
The class explodes in laughter. But it doesn’t help me out. Maybe it even makes the old man more stubborn. I have to give in now. But I hate your guts more than ever for it.
That’s why I keep telling you that I had to cancel my plans with the girls for you on the way. And I now realize that no matter how many times I explain to you that it’s my cry for love and attention, you get angry again. You, you’re so lost when it comes to understanding normal women!
We get our movies bad-temperedly. We walk out.
- I parked the bike down the street. You wanna walk with me?
- If you want me to.
- Do you think of saying that beforehand, or does it just pop out?!?
We stop to talk for a few minutes. I need to tell you how cold and distant you’re growing. I just don’t know how.
- Will you be upset if I find a boyfriend?
You don’t reply. You smirk. You look everywhere but not at me. Your face loses some of its dark color under the ugly beard. You want to pretend you don’t care so desperately.
- Are we seeing other people now?
I don’t have to answer that!
- I mean, I know that I already am. But I still have some roots, strong roots, in your heart; don’t I?
My turn to turn white. I don’t know what pains me most; the fact that you know how much I love you, or that you don’t love me back that much.
I touch my chest. It’s healing well. But it still hurts a little. And you’re there to observe it. You still don’t know for sure that it’s a cut though. You have your doubts; but I insist that it’s just a pimple! Do you actually believe that lousy lie?!?
- It’s a new cut, isn’t it?
- No! No! Are you crazy?
- You were showing it off the other day. But, why there?
You have no clue that I did it on Molly’s birthday.
You’re teaching the class. You’re focused on getting the students involved. Right now one is reading the short story you’re teaching. And I’m focused on you. I want to talk to you. To meet you in private. To make love to you.
My fingertips get wet. Warm and wet. I look down. I’m doing it again. I have my nails in the cuts on my chest. I try to cover them up with the Band-Aid again. When I look back up, I see you’re watching me. There’s wrath and pain and regret in your eyes. I’m scared of what you’ll do to me if you find me alone anytime soon…
And to think that I dare say to you when the class is over:
- Your way of teaching is fake, as is everything else about you!
I simply disregard the fact that you’re trying to get the truth about my chest out of me. The good thing about forgetful men is that they don’t get it when women change the subject!
I go back to telling you that it’s hard to believe you still care about me.
These days, I always go back to the day you said you didn’t love me. Will you ever be able to make that up to me? Will you ever be able to wipe that memory off my mind? Will you?
- How was the birthday sex by the way?
It makes you laugh again. It is quite amusing for you why I think of things which upset me more instead of trying to be happy.
- I still care. It sucks that I can’t talk to you and meet you and be with you as much as I’d like to. But the problem is that I run out of plans for getting out of my flat.
- To me, it seems like you run out of the will to try.
- No! It’s nothing like that. I just lack the perseverance.
- You have given up on me! On us!
Two shiny drops of tears run down my cheeks. That’s one thing I never run out of. Not these days.
We have to say goodbye. I’m the first one to move. I’ve taken a few steps away from you when you call me back to you:
- Hey, hey. Come back here. I wanna tell you something.
I walk back. You grab my arm to pull me close. I, of course, don’t resist. You whisper in my ear:
- Be good, my Chica.
Why do I feel you just use that line as an alibi to have me close?
I feel you’re smelling my perfume, my shampoo, my body, again. I feel you’re fingers are pressing my arm, like that very first night. I feel you’re trying to have me close, keep me close. I know you’re against public displays of affection. I know you have to, because you’re married. I feel you can’t simply hug me and kiss me; you have to come up with something like that to get me close enough.
I feel your body heat through your clothes and mine. I feel your pain and love, your loss and sorrow, your passion and desire, in the broken voice that whispers in my ear. It’s just a simple short sentence. But I hear a lot in it. That’s why I kiss you on the cheek before I pull away. Sweetheart, I wish things were different too...
You’re leaving me alone way too much. For my happiness. For your own good. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know how my mind works? Don’t you expect an e-mail or two, like these?
Hey Boss,
I don't even know why I'm writing to you. You sure as hell don't wanna be with me anymore. And I understand that. We had a deal. I begged you to stay with me till my fucking birthday. You gave in. the birthday is over now. So is your commitment to me I see. Why didn't I see it coming?
You don't come to talk to me at college anymore. You don't call me a number of times a day anymore. You don't go to bed early to message me anymore. You don't message me at all anymore. You simply don't care I guess.
Why do I love you so desperately still?
You don't meet me. You don't call me. You don't talk to me. You’re not with me. You don't make love to me. You don't love me. These are all the facts that I need to know.
You’re getting away, you're leaving, you're... I don't know. What are you doing? I'm still waiting for you to say the things that I need to hear in person. Will I? Will I ever?
And I'm not scared of you leaving me anymore. You have already left. It used to be a nightmare. It’s a simple fact now. Like the fact that I'm the loneliest, most miserable I've ever been. Like the fact that I'm dead inside, though I pretend to live for your sake. Like the fact that...
And I don't even need to curse you. How can I want to hurt you more than you already are? What can I wish for that can possibly be worse than what you have to live through every day?
You’re just so deep in; you don't see or feel it anymore.
Your life, hell on earth.
Your future, as dark as the depths of my heart.
Your heart, as empty and dead as my soul.
Your soul, as dead as my body.
Will you cut and burn and harm yourself physically, for what you do to me? Or is your heart so cold, your soul so dead, that you'll forget me in no time? Will your life ever be the same, go back to normal, or was the love you once felt for me real enough to keep me on your mind forever?
Or will you come back to me for a few more weeks?
You sure don't need me to curse you.
I need you to have some peace...
Bye
And then, hours later:
Hey Boss,
Just writing to thank you. For today. For today, finally, you said how things were.
It's not your lack of perseverance that prevents you from trying to call or meet me. It's your lack of interest.
You don't even care if I'm with someone else, because you simply don't care.
Why should I love you?
Why do I love you?
I'm deleting the chapters I've written.
I'm burning whatever helps me remember you.
I'll acid-wash the skin you've touched, you've kissed.
I'll cut my tongue out not to tell you that I love you anymore.
I'll cut my heart open not to love you anymore.
Thanks for coming out with the truth.
That day, when you said you didn't love me,
That was the bitter truth...
Peace,
Ch…
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