Wednesday, April 18, 2012


Upon opening his eyes, the regret was nearly instantaneous. He shut his eyelids tightly, willing himself back to that empty hallway, lined with lockers, void of classmates, occupied by her, those silver eyes, that long blonde hair, twisted above her head in a bun, revealing her tiny ears that were actually listening, listening to him, his words, his fumbling, mumbling, inadequate words, professing his love, undying, immovable, unrequited now that he was awake and painfully aware of the impossibility of that perfect, perfect dream...

And later that day, while rushing through the halls to geometry class, he saw her, her swollen eye covered by makeup, her bruised wrists hidden by the sleeves of his letterman jacket, a disguise that fooled no one, failed to cover the evidence of another fall down the stairs, another volleyball to the face, another slap and grab and why won't she leave him, why won't her parents say anything, why did the teachers pass him, why did the school give him that full ride, why is she still wearing that jacket when he's across town in a dorm, waiting for his big debut against Hawaii, sleeping with 20 year old cheerleaders, 26 year old TAs, 41 year old professors, ok, maybe not with all those girls, but he still hits her and treats her like shit and makes me wish that I wasn't 15 going on 12, 127 going on 110, 5'6" going 5'2", weak going on weaker, smart going on weaker, in love, in love, in lust, in love, in pain but not as much as she endures on a nightly basis...

And then he remembered why he loved the dream so much. It wasn't because he finally had her. It was because she was finally safe. And he was sad. Sad that he realized it was pity that he felt, not love.

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