Last Friday's

                “He was being an idiot, and I completely fell for it,” I admitted to Angelina. My throat felt tight, and my heart constricted painfully as I remembered what just happened exactly a week ago.

                “Guys are idiots, sometimes sweet idiots, or even mean idiots, but…” she trails off unable to finish her sentence. She continues hugging me, and I was grateful for that, because it seemed that everywhere I go, I would break, the memories of the two of us flooding back to me.

                “But what, Angelina?” I ask a bit curious.

                “But… you just have to give them a chance, even if they broke your heart so badly so. Now get on home, or else your mama is going to worry sick about you,” she says hesitantly breaking the embrace. I nod and do as she says, after locking the front door, and looking for a pen and paper. I do what my hand has been itching to do for the past week, and that was write a poem. Only I couldn’t till now because it felt as if I really will break into a million pieces, but I forced my shaky hands to write the words anyways.

I waited for you to come back.

Only you never came.

I waited for one of your witty sarcastic responses about why you were gone.

Only you never said one.

I waited for you.

Did you wait for me?

I missed your smiles.

Only you never showed one ever again.

I missed your surprise kisses, so sweet and lingering

Only you never gave one to me ever again.

I missed having your arms around me; it was like my personal lifeline.

Only now they’re wrapped around someone else’s.

Someone taller

Someone more graceful

Someone prettier than me

I missed having you.

Did you miss me?

But most of all I miss my heart.

That only you seemed so caring enough to rip it into a million pieces.

And I know that I should hate you for that.

But

I

Simply

Can’t.

10/3/11

I promised I will post on the weekend but that ended up as me getting lazy. So here are 10/3/11-10/6/11 in the following posts.

I know, I know that Burgundy isn't a town it's a provenience in France, but that was all I can think of at the moment.

She seemed so happy on the outside, but her words proved something different. Sadness plagued her like the glue. Tears were silently shed each night, and yet no one would ever know. No one would hear the words she wanted to say, nor would they even bother to listen. She was widely known for her beauty, her brains, but most of all for her smile, but never her words. Whenever she tried to say something, cameras would flash. Whenever she tried to show her writing, it would be easily forgotten the next day. Up, down all around, and well renowned, but never listened.

“Have you seen Meggie’s hair? It was so last year, god she’s so old fashioned,” said one of Meggie’s ‘friends.’ It has always been like this for quite a while, where she kept on hearing back stab after back stab story. She was always ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tears would threaten to fall, only to be blinked away. Anger carefully hidden away, an award-winning smile forced on her lips. And they will never know, never know that she overheard them all, never know the trouble they would be in if she used action instead of words. Never knowing what will be in store for one of them one day, till its one day too late. And she will never know the consequence will be to suppress your emotion for too long, till now.

“Oh yes the ponytail is so old fashioned, anyone that even has it is just a plain uncreative loser,” a bunch of giggles started erupting from the five girls. The sound was enough to wake up the whole town.

“It’s-” the girl barely got the first word out, got a slap on the cheek. A dark red spot was forming over the girl’s pale face, as she lay open-mouthed. “What the hell was that for?!” she shrieked.  But no one got a word out as Meggie started slapping the girl again, harder and harder.  But before she can transition into something else, one of the other girls managed to get Meggie into a tight neck hold.

“L-let m-m-me go pl-please?” Meggie choked out. But instead of her loosening the grip, she just tightened it, till darkness started to overcome them all.

It was the next day; there was nothing left but a pale of ashes, under the old willow tree. The six girls weren’t heard from till ten years later, in a little European village of Burgundy.