When we first met, it wasn’t love at first site, or fate bringing us together. We knew nothing about each other, yet somewhere, deep down, I knew I wanted to be with you. Why? Maybe it was the way you stood above me like a wall of protection. Possibly it was the smile you tried to hide. And even if it sounds crazy, maybe it was the troubled eyes that seemed to tell a rough story.
When you were around, I often found myself breathless, thoughtless, and slightly lifeless...but that's how I liked it, and that’s how it was. At times, I struggled to choke out words, while you easily continued the conversation. I hated how quiet I had become, but I adored the silence your voice filled.

April 5th, you broke up with me. Saying that we could no longer be together. Your parents had “found out” and didn’t approve. You said "sorry" countless times. Each time I replied with "its fine". It truly was. I understood. I would never show how disappointed I actually was. Not to you at least. And why would I? It wasn’t your fault.

Two days later a vicious rumor spread. Your parents knew nothing. All you had told me was a lie. Unquestionably, it was just an excuse to end it with me. You justified it to others, saying “I didn’t want to make her cry.”

I was angry, infuriated, disgusted. What would you expect? Heartbroken? Never. I wouldn’t allow myself to be. If this was who you were, you didn’t deserve my tears and surely, of all things, not my heart.
And yet, as I walked into school the next day, I sought you out. Not because I wanted to yell and scream at you. But because I still liked you. Your name still sent tingles down my spine, and your eyes still took my breath away.
And for that I feel stupid...stupidly in like.