Between a Rock & A Hard Place

It’s difficult for me to just let this go. I’m between a rock and a hard place, but I need you to know that you are the hard place and he is the rock. He’s the choice I had to make; you were just a romanticized thought.

Sometimes I like to think about the way it was before. When we would sneak secret kisses when no one was looking. You were such a gentleman in the most unlikely way and I swear I will always cherish those days we spent together. And in all honesty, it seemed much simpler back then. When we would make out in the stairwells, with the title “just friends.” You gave me such a bad reputation, but I didn’t mind; you were mine, I was yours, and our intimacy wasn’t a crime.

But we can go back even further, back to when we first started. I was naive and oblivious, and you were broken hearted. Back when your only weapon was your devilish grin and those watery blue eyes that could easily draw me in and under. Or at the beginning of the new school year, back to our first kiss, when you snatched me by my hips and drew breath from my lips. At that moment, everything was all right, we were being sneaky and suspicious in the homecoming moonlight.

Back when you cared, and it wasn’t about lust; you called me every night, and we began to break down the walls. We talked about humanity, religion, friends, and love and that’s when we began to fall for each other, yet never did I think that we were meant to be. But I did begin to believe that you were good for me; I guess that’s where the whole thing went wrong because our conversations grew short and our make out sessions grew long.

Still, I wouldn’t trade you, because I craved your confusion, and in the midst of your instability I gave liberty to my own delusion. I wanted so badly to share that champagne kiss and I never thought the taste of nicotine would be something I’d be missing. You told me you loved me, and I believed it. Looking back, I wonder why I didn’t say it back to you. Because for a brief time I did, I loved you with all my being and every time I was affectionate it caused a chain reaction: you’d pull me into the stairs, and I would pretend to fight, but what you didn’t know is that was what I’d dream about at night. And after my long speeches about nothing, you called me captivating—the way you pulled me in could not have been more gravitating. It’s a beautiful feeling to know that you’re owned, but a tragic feeling to know that you’re alone. And I messed up. I should have asked you, but rumors aroused and I didn’t know what to do. I shut down emotionally. It’s what I do when I’m scared, and then it hit me like a train: y o u d i d n ’ t c a r e.

You started to change, and you were just being rude. It tore me down because I never thought you were that type. After it ended, I tried to be polite, but you made me feel worthless out of jealousy and spite. Sure, you apologized and have forgotten me by now, but I will always have these memories: the good and the bad, they’re a package deal. You taught me to love, and you taught me to feel.

If I had the chance, I still wouldn’t go back because everything happens for a reason. I’ve found love, and I know what love is worth. Love is not love if there is less love than there is hurt.

I hope sometime you can look back at me too, and remember everything that we went through. Remember: be your best and never forget me, that girl, your stranger of a friend.