[Be honest, girl.
This is a mundane detail; tell it like the world knows. Like it cares.]
I was ridiculous. And really, once you’re completely ridiculous, it’s not something that is at all curable. Once you’ve been a love-struck fool, you walk around with the open wound for the rest of your life (‘cause, you know, love won’t heal).
I waited in the hallway with five million tons of advanced course hometorture in the bulging carrier strapped to my back, and I kicked gently at the ugly speckled carpet under my shoes, thinking carefully for any excuse I could present for wanting to talk to her. I knew she was in there…in that room I was standing by. I could hear her laugh, the walls radiated her presence. I couldn’t leave without seeing her, but I had no excuse for staying. I put the backpack down and leaned against the wall, hearing the tones of her voice, not quite knowing what she was saying to those fortunate people, knowing it didn’t matter.
I waited in the hallway for an hour, hoping she’d come out…poised to start walking as soon as I saw the door creek open, so that maybe I could pretend I was only passing by on account of coincidence and not actually stalking, like the girl-obsessed freak I really am. I stood there, counting the specks, staring back at the passers-by who stared at me as I wondered miserably what possessed me to remain here so patiently, so illogically, just to see her once before leaving the building.
A little hunger stirred in my stomach. I stayed glued to the wall, eyes fixed on the door. I felt more than a little pathetic; felt like her shadow…craving the adhesiveness it feels it deserves, locked out of a sunlit room…waiting to accompany the real person again. To feel alive again. Warm again.
The handle on the door twisted, sending a jolt through my system. The ugly door and the ugly walls and the ugly school all disappeared, and I saw the face, the smile, the wise eyes. She addressed me immediately, offered words of a lighthearted nature, appeared genuinely happy about randomly encountering me in the hallway, and continued walking with the individual that currently had her company. I stood there, stunned a little from the sight of her, brief though it was.
I hated everything, and left.
Songs play like broken records about love.
Songs can’t capture this. This level of wanting, so immense and strong inside the mindbodysoul that shoves all else into the world of the secondary. This standing, waiting, needing, craving, seeing, loving, watching, longing, regretting, leaving, leaving, leaving…everything unfulfilled, and everything ten times emptier than it had been before you’d started the whole process.
Songs don’t know love. Not like the walls do. Not like the empty building does, seeing its star walk out to the parking lot smiling to herself or grasping the arm of her fortunate friend, already having forgotten about the one still leaning on the cold walls inside, still pathetic, still waiting for the warmth.