Disheveled Jonathan was at a loss for what to do, or say. He was back in his apartment now and he felt drained. Why did she always have this effect on him? Why did she have so much influence on his emotions? He was almost angry now.
Yes, he had loved her...and told her. And what had she replied? A long speech he couldn't care to remember...but of course that she couldn't love or something like that. And "...bla bla bla we can only be friends..." He had squeezed like bad paper through a printer. A mistake alright. Not knowing what to do with the pain and shame, he had totally avoided her for close to a year. Being in the same class, yet worlds apart.
Now she wanted them to be friends again!!! Friends!! 'to rebuild their old connection'. He shook his head. The same connection that pushed him into love, where he had landed like Humpty.
He reached for his laptop. He was going to write something...to blog about it. His blog was not really well visited, maybe a few friends. He mostly wrote short fiction and a few satires that were never seen by those whose stupidities were addressed. But today, he was going to write his own tragedy.
He started;
"
Forgive me readers...this post is different. It is an expression of my state, which i know is really none of your business. I really shouldn't, but this is all i can think of right now, and i feel like letting off some.
This is not fiction. It will not be well composed, but it is true. And sad.
Why I hate You
I cannot write a poem
I cannot sing a song
Maybe because I haven't tried them
Maybe because i'm afraid i'll get it wrong
Nevertheless i must say
a few things that's been on my mind
quite heavy they weigh
so forgive me if i forget to rhyme
I hate it when you get us so close
and tell me everything you've never told another
then leave me nothing to hold
but the letters we wrote each other
I hate it that you meant everything to me
That you were all i'd dreamt I wanted
Only for you to wake me up to a reality
and leave me forever haunted
I hate that we ever started this journey
only to crash so badly
unfair that you (apparently) were unhurt
while I, conspicuously distraught.
I hate it when you teach me to love
then say you are unable to fall
no butterflies nor cupid's arrow
not for anyone at all.
I hate it when you say it's complicated
and draw twisted lines in your head
'cos to me it's pretty simple
Just come to me as i have come to you.
I hate it when everyone who sees us together
says there's definitely something in us for each other
we radiate magic for all to see
yet none enough for ourselves to believe
I hate it when my heart fears
that no one else might have the power to
cure me of this disease called you
Oh! You Cause Me Such Despair.
Write me another letter
cry me a small river
just show me that i can melt the ice,
that i can find your heel that wasn't wetted by the Styx
And if it be not possible
to show me that i make you as vulnerable
i beg of you
suffer me just a little.
*sigh*
"
He looked at the article again. And again.
He thought to himself. He had other things to do and shouldn't be sitting here like a Romeo. Romeo was designed to be a love tale, nothing could bother him about a good degree or job or money or fame. But I have a reality to face!
With that, he posted his latest writing online.
