Points of View

Can I tell you a story?

Back in the year 2009, I met a girl. At the time, I don't know who she would be in my life, I don't know what role she would play; I didn't even know her name. All I remember from that time was a pair of blue and green sneakers, low but hanging above the ground. This was before classes started.

Then, in the blink of an eye, classes started. I didn't even notice that summer break go by. The next thing I remember was sitting beside a couple of people I had yet to meet, waiting for class to begin. The teacher called the roll, one name at a time, then I recognized a familiar name. I was sitting there, half-wishing it was her, and half-wishing it wasn't. We talked about menial things, that I didn't know I'd even remember sitting in my bedroom, four years later.

She was introduced by someone dear to me.

Here we are... Four years later, she's somewhere out there, and I'm still holed up in this hell hole called alone. Of course, she'd think that from where she's standing, there was nothing wrong... And there won't be anything wrong until I tell her that one thing that I've always wanted to.

As the seas rise and crash in waves,
And movement dances with the way
The wind blows in the direction of the shore
Away from the rays that show themselves
Less and less. And the bright that
Casts over eyes turn to shade, and the hair
On arms raise as what used to melt has now
Changed to freeze. And under starry skies,
The fields that were once glowing
With the hope of day, is masked
By dark of night
And the hand and heart that used to write
Have long since changed their ways.

For some reason, I wrote this for her, and inspired by her... Ironically, the hand and the heart that used to write for her that have "long since changed their ways," wrote once more in their old ways.

Janine, if you're reading this now, or someday that you will get to read this... In four years, I can recount our friendship. On September 1, 2009, I told you that I liked you. In January of 2013, I told you that I will give you my blue rose. In March of 2013, you never gave me that opportunity to.

In a way, I fulfilled my promise to myself. On an early-summer night, the 20th of March in 2013, I knew that things changed. I told myself that I would find out if there was anything to happen, and I did find out, not in the way that had been planned for months.

Painted roses lie
On the ground, since last night
To dawn today. As frigid winds
Blow some away, there were
Some too heavy, they were forced to stay.
The men who have never
Shed tears for a woman's "nay,"
Do so for the first time today.

The green grass with blue petals,
Detached from stems, litter the ground
As morning rises to take the night away.
The gusts blow on and ribbons fly.
Each man takes a step away.
For when I cried, you never asked me why,
You left to leave, for a reason we never had to say.