Eyes meet, breath holding fast. What do you see in the eyes that are staring into yours?

Heart pounding, chest racing; no, none of that. I hardly even know you.

If eyes could hold a spirit, yours did.
Now look down. Act as if nothing’s happened. This is all just normal. It’s okay.
Oh gosh, you’re talking to me. What am I supposed to say? “What?” Oh goodness. A writer, or at least a wannabe writer, should have better words than this. That’s what I always say. I don’t believe it – that I’m a writer.
Braces mouth. Shaggy, messy hair. Pretty handsome face. Still, I remember the eyes.

I remember eyes that communicated endless mystery. A torrent of emotions; this was the moment that would define ‘our’ future.

Gmail chats. Late, late night text messages. Assurances. Words that meant things, words that meant nothing at all. No words at all. Can I call it a betrayal – what you did? What I did?

“I love you.” Dumb words for what we had. Or didn’t. Have, that is.

I walk away. Deliberately. I could have had you out of my life forever.

And now, you call me back, not with eyes but with words. No sappy romantic rhymes or “I love you”s tossed jokingly out into the night.

No more pretending that this was all just normal.

My heart melted.
Dear, I’m sorry for loving you. For placing the burden of a love unreturned on your shoulders. For looking to you for comfort for my late night grievances; for all the dumb, dumb questions. For loving your eyes, eyes that held the spirit of a not writer-I. Am. Sorry.

I’m sorry that you could not… will not…

This instant. Right here.
I am left trying to forget you; trying to remember that I do not love you anymore. I should not love you anymore. I cannot love you anymore, cannot let myself be hurt anymore.
And Dear,
I’m sorry for now having to break my promise.

I will no longer love you.







I promise.