You are home.

I’m nervous to go home. But I shouldn’t be. I should be happy and excited and doing back flips like the rest of my classmates. And I am, don’t get me wrong. To get to spend the whole summer back at home with my family and friends will be great. But I’m not sure how I feel about seeing you. You see I was listening to music the other day and something just clicked with me. I couldn’t tell you the song or the band who sang it, but what I do know is that a line resonated with me: “I want to be, the tattoo on your arm. I want to be, the scar above your heart.” And that got to me, right here in my heart. It felt as if a blade had just been shoved into my chest, twisted around, and drawn out. Because I realized that I feel that way, towards you. I wish I could say I was that to you. I wish I could say that I was what you desired more than anything else. But I’m not. I never will be. That sounds a little morbid doesn’t it? I don’t mean it to be, but that’s a fact. When I look at your type and then I look at myself, I see quite the difference. It’s like apples and chainsaws, how can you  compare it? You can’t. You just accept that there’s a difference, and that only one will fit the job. And I apparently am not the right apple nor the right chainsaw for the job. I’ve accepted that, believe me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t think about it or over analyze it or tear it apart in my mind. And believe me hon, I’ve done just that. And we’ll see what happens when I return, but until then, goodbye.

The End

0 comments about this work Feed