On Priorities and Memories...

‘Tonight would be such a good night to go running’, she mused, watching the ice and rain fall almost invisibly in the night sky, save for the glimmers visible under each streetlamp. Deep conversations always made her want to run, which albeit may not be such a good thing, but productive nonetheless. Weird, though, since running was more his thing.

Running from confrontation. Hiding behind stupid, stupid laughter and awkward jokes. Quick to change a status but too slow to change his heart. Smiling awkwardly and walking a girl to class does not make a relationship, in case you wanted to know. Not even close. She didn't consider herself needy, really. She didn't even ask for that cursory walk-your-significant-other-around-like-they’re-incapable thing anyway. All she wanted was to feel special, for once. And to someone who hasn't felt that way before, it really ain't hard to please. Reality check, people. Seven years of friendship plus mutual attraction add up, not to a blissful romance, ladies and romantics of the audience, but to lying matchmakers and petty secrets. ‘Young love my ass’, she thought, smirking sardonically, “barely even broke the ice”.

“You’re always so happy. So full of boundless energy. Everyone loves you! How do you do it?” How indeed. It still surprised her whenever she heard this, like she hadn't heard it thousands of times before. Not because it was a reputation she disliked – who wants to be known as a whiny brat anyway? – but because it showed how little depth some of her relationships held. And that scared her.

No one asks her what she’s afraid of. If they did, she would say she’s scared of being alone. Of never knowing what it’s like to care for someone and not have her heart broken. Of never knowing what it’s like to be a priority. Of never knowing what it’s like to have what everyone else takes for granted. Scared of love but scared of ending up alone.

People say it doesn’t matter, to “keep your priorities straight” and that everything happens in its own time. But it does, it does matter. It matters so much it hurts. They say good things happen to good people; that good things come for those who wait. But let’s be honest, waiting sucks. And good people are really not rewarded so much as reused and recycled. Replaceable. Most of them are taken for granted, shoved aside, or hidden behind the blabbermouth bitch.  It’s hard to be a believer of exceptions when all her life she’s been shown the rules.

Grades, ambitions, results. It’s all well and great, and she won’t forget it. But when she’s standing at the end: happy, successful, and smiling, who’s going to be there, telling her it’s ok to cry?

Nobody. And that’s why it hurts so much.