heavy in your arms

When I was a little girl, I had big dreams. A very typical thing. I wanted to be one of those writers that people remember years after, and simply someone who loved me. Now, I have many people that love me, but I wanted, still do, a love surrounds me completely.

At the marvelous age of seven, I had declared I was going to marry a boy with freckles I could make into constellations and curls. I found my constellation freckles and curly haired boy my sophomore year of high school. After almost three years together, a couple of months ago, he decided our relationship wasn’t sometime to work for.

Also at the age of seven, I had determined my ideal boyfriend needed to hold my hand and tell me I looked cute occasionally. When I look back at my relationship, I see a lot of things I regret. I regret I was (I still am, but I’m working on it.) timid and afraid to do things. I realize I told him “no,” a lot but I realize that he was never really understanding when told.

He held my hand and told me I was pretty plenty of times at the start. Eventually I guess he felt he didn’t have to tell me I was pretty. He didn’t want to hold my hand, and started to make it seem like it was a hassle for him to kiss me goodbye.

I look back at the relationship, and there are some things I would do differently; one thing I wouldn’t do differently is loving him. I still can’t not love him either. He was my best friend and lover. I knew I always had him by my side, and we actually started out as friends first.

Our platonic love blossomed and began another sparking, aching love in our hearts. I still feel that love, but it aches in all the wrong ways. I wonder when he sees me, if he aches the same. It may seem as if I am calling for a lost love, and I was for a while. Now, when I see him my heart does still ache but I smile in direction. I refuse to let him see me unhappy, but I am happy for the most part. I’m just a bit more lonely than I was before.

When I see him, he looks a bit pale and flustered when he sees me. Of course we would run into each other; it is after all, a small university campus. I look perfectly fine, and he looks confused and awful. I fought for our relationship, but I cannot fight for someone whom told me to put down my dagger.

I deserve to be fought for instead, just like everyone out there. When you put yourself out there and fight against the monster holding your love captive, and it doesn’t work, you can say, “I fought for you. It’s your turn.”

 

The ball, if it ever moves, is in your court, darling. Maybe you should play croquet with the Red Queen before you move your ball. Make sure your aim is correct, or you may just fail.

 

Love,

E. E.

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