TheStoryAboutEverything: Vol. 1

“Marcus?”
“Yeah? What is it?”

She starts shuffling her feet. It’s something I noticed she does all the time when she’s worried or nervous.

“Well…I don’t know how to say it…”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. It’s just…uh…”

By now I was kind of worried. She was never this serious with me. Mainly, because I’m not really the type of guy for sharing serious conversations with. I mean I’ll have a couple of serious talks here and there, though it happens only once in a blue moon. But here she was, being serious with me.

“I’ve never said this to anyone before…not even my exes. But, I love you.”
Silence.
“I know you do.”

And that was the truth. I knew she meant every syllable that she had just said to me.

She moves slightly away from me, but I’m still holding onto her. Still in the hug we shared before this whole conversation started. The slight, summer breeze whispering past our ears as we stood alone in the park where we’d spent so many afternoons together. The sun was at its highest, peeking behind scattered puffs of white cloud. Just a minute ago, everything had seemed perfect.

“That’s it?”
“Were you expecting something else?”
“Yeah. I was.”
“C’mon Cathy, you know I’m not good with this stuff.”
“Not good with what? With words and feelings?”
“Basically.”
“And all those lunch time poetry readings of yours that you’ve dragged me to? Or how about all of those love songs?”
“That’s different.”
“How are they any different?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, I heard a muffled sob. I look down at her in front of me, still in my arms. Looking at those brown eyes I’ve looked into so much during these last seven months beginning to water, I could already tell I’d chosen the wrong words.
This perfect day had done a complete U-turn in a matter of moments. As if the sunlight and the warmth of the day were following a cue only Mother Nature could find amusing, the sun dipped behind a large cloud as the day turned cold.
Sigh.

“It’s not like that. It’s just…”
“You didn’t know what to say?”
“Kind of.”
“How about ‘I feel the same way.’? Or maybe even an ‘I love you too!’?”
“But the thing is…I don’t.”

After a few seconds in silence she breaks away from my embrace and takes two steps back. Tears running down her cheeks, lip trembling and teardrops clinging onto her curled eyelashes like morning dew on grass…I hate to admit it, but I thought she still looked beautiful.

“What?”

Looking straight into her eyes, I said four words that no man would dare say to his wife, let alone his girlfriend.

“I don’t love you.”

And that was the truth. And I meant every syllable I had just said to her. I didn’t think I loved her. And it would have been wrong to tell her otherwise.

“Then what’s the last seven months been to you!?”
“I just needed to pass the time; you know how bored I get.”

Clearly I was joking. This may not have looked like the appropriate time to crack a joke, but it’s just what I did. I never took anything seriously. I mean, she meant a lot to me and all, but I just can’t take it when people take things too seriously. It makes life seem a lot less…well, a lot less than what it should be.

“Cathy…you’re over reacting.”
“So I tell you something I’ve never told anybody before…I open up my heart to you…and you tell me that you don’t feel the same about me. Now tell me, how am I supposed to react!?”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“How many different meanings can the phrase ‘I don’t love you.’ possibly have?”
“More than the one you’re thinking of.”
“Why am I even debating this with you?”
“Because you love me?”

And then I gave her the smile she’d always complimented me on.
She cracks a smile so small I would have missed it if it weren’t for those dimples of hers. They drove me crazy. They really did. And I’ve told her that on more than one occasion. But I knew that this wasn’t the time for flattery.
And all of a sudden, it was gone again.

“That’s beside the point.”
“Look, Cathy. It’s not that I don’t care about you. Believe me, I do.”
“Then why don’t you love me?”

She said it with so much sadness that I was surprised I wasn’t tearing up too. Then it hit me. She really meant what she had just revealed to me.
That’s why she was making all this fuss. That’s why she was making such a big deal out of my reply. That’s why she was hurt so much by my lack of reciprocation. It’s because she loved me.
The breeze stops, and it’s as if the whole world is turned on mute. I can’t hear anything else but my heartbeat. Then I hear the irregular breaths she makes as she tries to hold back the tears. And I swear I heard a teardrop land on the paved pathway we were standing on.

She’s standing no less than two feet away from me, but now…it seems so much farther. I look into her eyes, and I become lost in the deep brown amidst the sea of fresh tears that had welled up there.
And when I open my mouth to speak, I can barely get the words out.

“It’s just that…I, I…I can’t explain.”
“Then come find me when you can.”

And with that she starts walking away down the familiar, winding path that leads to her street. While I just stood there watching her shrinking silhouette. Sigh.
She’s always had a flair for the dramatics. One day, she’s going to have to cut down on reading Nicholas Sparks and watching The Notebook.
I look up to the clear blue sky, there’s no trace of white. It’s like the weather’s just mocking me. As I stare at the endless expanse of blue, I wonder to myself. Why couldn’t I have just said I love her too and be done with it?

Why do I have do make everything so damn complicated?
So I turn and start walking to the bus stop, thinking about how I was going to fix all of this, contemplating how it all spun out of control like this.
Damn. This is going to be one long bus ride home.

--------

Twenty minutes later I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do to win her back. She probably hates me right about now. And she’s probably talking to one of her best friends about it…and they’re probably agreeing with her.
I take a deep breath as I see the bus start slowing down to pick me up. The front doors open as four passengers get off before I can step on. With a flash of my pass to the driver and a small nod, I start walking down the middle of the bus to find a seat. I find one near the back of the bus, right beside the window in my favorite spot.

As I settle down for another long bus ride home, I look out the window thinking hard to myself. I need to figure out how I’m going to do this. It might take a while. The girls that I’ve known are hardly the type to forget something like that so quickly. And she’ll be talking to her friends all night about whether on not she should just forget about me and move on to some other guy. I doubt any one’s going to be on my side after they hear it from her point of view. Especially with her crying over the phone and all. Lucky me.
I guess that rules out calling her and apologizing when I get home… But I have to explain. The question is how.

So I spent the next hour on that bus thinking about what I was going to do to fix all of this. Then the next hour and a half after as I transferred to another bus. Then the next fifteen minutes I needed to walk from the bus stop to the end of the street to my house. Then the next three hours as I lay on my bed in the dark, glaring at the ceiling, wishing an answer would just spell itself out for me.
It took until two o’clock in the morning for me to realize that the answer wasn’t going to appear out of thin air. By then, I was really tired and I could hardly keep my eyes open.
The day wasn’t all that tiring. For the most part, I think I tired out brain from overanalyzing the situation.
Maybe I should sleep on it, and I’ll think of a better solution after a good night’s rest. Or maybe she’ll have forgotten all about it tomorrow and everything will be back to normal when I see her in the hallways.

I’ll just grasp for that straw in case I can’t think of anything before I see her again. Hopefully, I have a dream about what I’m supposed to do. God knows I need that moment of inspiration right about now. This feels just like writer’s block. Too bad this isn’t a poem I can just scrap and throw in the bin because I’ve made too big a mistake.
I think she’s worth the trouble, in any case.
And with that I fell into a troubled sleep. Fearing what would unfold when I saw her at school the next day…

-------

When I woke up, I didn’t quite remember why I felt so lousy. But like a brick thrown by a prepubescent vandal hurtling through a window, everything that happened yesterday hit me. So much for having a relaxing Sunday afternoon with the girlfriend.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes and look out the window. It looks like it’s going to be a pretty nice day out. Here’s hoping it transcends into whatever I have to deal with when I try to talk to Cathy.

Half an hour later, I’m stepping out the front door, dreading whatever was to come. Everything was just like it always was when I got to school. The halls were packed with people waiting for another week of school to get under way, and there were my friends, lounging around by the window where we met every morning. I greet all of them, and as usual, it’s my best friend Joesar that’s the first to ask about what happened.

“So how was your date with Cathy yesterday? You know…the one you went on instead of going with me and the boys to play ball?”
“I wish I could say it was worth missing ball with y’all…but it wasn’t.”
“Info bro.”
“I’ll tell you later. Have you seen Cathy?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Any idea where she might be?”
“Nope. You can always just wait until first period.”
“I guess. But it’s kind of important.”
“That bad huh?”
“I have no one to blame but myself, really.”
“At least you’re not too stupid to realize that.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“You know I’m just kidding. But if you ever need anything, I’m here bro.”
“What I really need now is to find Cathy.”
“Well, speak of the devil.”

I follow his eyes over my left shoulder, and there she was. At the far end of the hallway, Cathy was leaning against her friend’s locker as her friend riffled through numerous books on the top rack. They were talking pretty animatedly. I kept trying to catch Cathy’s eye, but to no avail. At one point, I thought I had made eye contact with her. But if we did, then she was certainly trying to avoid my gaze again.

She was with Victoria, her best friend. I never really liked her all that much to tell you the truth, Victoria I mean. And I’m pretty sure she felt the same way about me. Ever since the first day of high school when we met in Math class, we’d never really gotten along.
She wasn’t hideous or anything. I thought she was pretty cute, as a matter of fact. But she’s one of those instances in which there’s an undeniable force that repels you from something, or in this case, somebody.
There was just something about her that irked me. Don’t ask me for specifics, suffice it to say that she wasn’t the type of person I would spend more time around than was necessary. But seeing as I’d been going out with her best friend for the last seven months, what was necessary seemed to be an awful lot as far as I was concerned.
I’d actually started to get along with her lately. But I guess that this whole dilemma is going to throw that progress in reverse. I have no doubt that she’d side with Cathy. And why wouldn’t she? I’d never really proven myself to be worth giving the benefit of the doubt in situations like this.
However, now was the time to try to patch up my relationship with my girlfriend, not the third wheel.

Joe takes a few steps to stand right next to me and gives me a little nudge forward.

“So, are you going to go talk to her?”
“I would. Victoria’s there though.”
“You know there’s a way around that.”
“Formation B?”
“You got it.”

I let Joe take the lead as he starts walking ahead of me towards the girls. It seems kind of funny to have approaches like this all planned out, but that’s what you get when you hang out with Joe enough. He even tried teaching me how to pick up girls in random places. Needless to say it didn’t quite work out.
I’m more of the hopeless romantic type. But more on that later. There are more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. A few feet away from the girls, Joe decides it’s the right time to get things started.

“Yo! Victoria!”
“Oh. Hi, Joesar.”
“How was your weekend?”
“It was okay, I guess.”
“Just okay?”
“I got to sleep in and do nothing, but then something came up last night.”

By then I knew what that “something” was. I had no doubt that Cathy had called her when she got home. And to prove my guess right, Victoria basically glared a hole right through me when she said it.

“Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
“Didn’t Marcus tell you?”
“Not even a single detail.”
“Really? He didn’t mention it to you?”
“Why would you automatically think he would?”
“Well…I always thought you guys were gay for each other.”

Always with the gay jokes. I look at Cathy, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. The joke makes her smile a little. She catches me watching her, and she looks down at the floor, a curtain of her long black hair covering her face.

“That’s just every once in a while.”
“Glad to see you guys admit it.”
“We’re comfortable with our sexuality, thank you very much.”
“Okay there.”
“My offer still stands and there’s about ten minutes before class starts. What do you say, Victoria?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Great. We’ll see you two later.”

It was common knowledge around the seniors in our school that Victoria had a thing for Joesar. And so did almost every girl close to our age. And to tell you the truth, he would have dated her. But thankfully enough, my opinion meant more to him than anybody else’s. So when I told him how much I disliked her, he decided not to go through with it. But it didn’t stop him from flirting with her every now and then.
He gives me a wink as he puts his arm around her and they start walking down the hall. I had to admit, Joe could make any situation turn out well enough when he wanted it to. He’s quite the charmer, something I always wished I was.
But I guess we were all made to be certain people. He was meant to be suave and debonair. While I was meant to be nice and sensitive. Lucky me.

As they start to walk away, I turn to Cathy in hopes I could think of something and we could spend the rest of the day in blissful happiness again. It wasn’t going to turn out that way.
I turned to see her putting her laptop back into its case as she was getting up. With one look at me, she picks up her bag and starts walking towards her homeroom.

“Cathy, wait.”

She turns around and gives me the type of look that you get from parents who don’t want you dating their daughter. Which by the way, I’d been lucky enough to have received on behalf of Cathy’s parents.
It’s not like I was a bad kid or anything. I’ll admit, I’ve done some pretty stupid things but I’ve always been able to get out of it primarily unscathed. Only a handful of people know about that side of me. Ask anyone and they’ll refer to me as a nice guy. It’s just the people I have to impress that get the wrong impression of me.
People say that I come off as loud and obnoxious sometimes. And I’m tempted to agree with them. But that’s only every so often when I need to be.
Wrenching myself from thoughts of disapproving parents, I’m brought back to earth by Cathy’s steady toe tapping on the floor. After giving me the once over with her arms crossed, she finally replies.

“What is it?”
“Look. I still can’t explain what I said yesterday. I’m sorry if I hurt you. But I meant what I said. It’s just that it wouldn’t have been right to tell you something that I’m not sure of.”
“Is that your idea of an apology?”
“I kind of had a script in my head. But it’s a lot harder in person.”
“And…?”

It looks like a straight out apology isn’t going to work. And apologies were never really my strong suit. It’s not easy apologizing when you always insist you’re right in everything.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“But that doesn’t resolve the issue.”
“What is the issue?”
“The fact that you don’t know what you think about us.”
“I do know. I just can’t put it into words.”
“Then what did you come to tell me?”
“That I’m sorry.”
“Sorry just isn’t good enough anymore.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know…you figure it out.”

And with that she turns around and starts walking away again, for the second time in two days. Sigh. I’m on a roll aren’t I?

-------

An hour later, I’m sitting in the Religion classroom as I usually do, talking to Joesar about this and that. This area was always the perfect place to carry on any conversation.
He’d been telling me about the basketball game that I missed the day before, giving me the play by play rundown. He could have been a great commentator, let me tell you.

“Then Don made this really nice crossover and made this sweet jumper right in front of Alex’s face. Game point.”
“Sounds awesome.”
“It was great. That game was pretty epic.”
“Too bad I had to miss it.”
“You okay? You’ve looked pretty distracted this whole time.”

He never missed anything obvious that’s for sure. As Joe painted a picture for me about how every game they played unfolded, I was gazing out the window. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the total opposite of the thunderclouds I could just imagine floating above my head.
Turning from my view of the window to face Joe, I shake my head.

“It’s just this whole Cathy thing. I don’t know what to do.”
“Tried apologizing?”
“Yeah. It didn’t really help much. I think it made it worse actually.”
“Any idea what you’re going to do now?”
“Nope.”
“Well…just think about it. It’ll come to you.”

Then I closed my eyes and lay my head on the cool surface of the desk I was sitting in.
That’s what I’ve been doing for the past few hours. And it doesn’t seem like I’m going to think of a solution when everything seems bleaker than before. If only I could finally explain it. But how can I?
My ego won’t let me concede the point and allow me to just tell her that I love her when I’ve told her repeatedly that I don’t. It must be my romantic side rearing its head again. Nothing was ever really easy when I got to thinking about it. Usually, I got things out of my system by writing about it. But I don’t think sweet talking her through poetry is going to help right now.

I think she’s already had enough of the poetry readings I’d asked her to go to. And I know I never really appreciated the fact that she’d go, no matter what. She always said she loved poetry. Cathy being there made every single time I’d get up to read a poem special. There was something right about when she would be sitting in the audience looking up at me, paying attention to every word I said. And every time, she would react exactly like how I pictured she would.
You see, I never showed her any of my poems before I read them. I thought I would surprise her, and she’d like it even more. It worked, time after time. And whenever I would get up and read a love poem, she’d know I was talking about her. I didn’t have to tell her, I would just look into her eyes as I read it and I could let her know that each word was meant for her. And only her.
It was the one thing that we shared. It was the one thing that only she and I understood. Poetry was my passion, it was my escape. And she was the one that helped me discover that.

In that moment of clarity, I understood what I had to do all along. I lifted my head up with a smirk on my face.

“Got it?”

I look to my right and see Joe looking sheepishly at me. I glance at the digital clock mounted on the wall beside the door. It’s a quarter to eleven. That gives me little more than an hour to finish this.

“Of course. I’m going to need you to do something for me though.”
“I got it.”

With his reply, I quickly scribbled down a note on a scrap piece of paper ripped out from sketches drawn for my work. He accepts the slip of folded paper with a nod and a grin.

“I’m trusting you.”
“Don’t worry, Romeo.”

Remember when I hinted at how much of a hopeless romantic I was? Well, I’ve been that way since I could remember. I’ve been writing poetry since the eighth grade. But with all of this going on because of the words I chose, now seemed to be the perfect moment to put that on display. Most of the people I hung out with knew it, and I’m pretty sure quite a few other people knew too. And Joesar sure as hell knew about my sensitive side.
As he stands up and starts to leave, I have to chuckle to myself. I was your ordinary, average Romeo. Complete with smooth words about feelings, love poetry, emotional songs and fictional stories about two lovers destined for each other. I was the type of guy that would give voice to poetry, just to hear people go “Aww”. I was also the type of guy that had never had a girlfriend.
Cathy was my first. With her, everything seemed original. And I loved it.

With her in mind, I started writing. She was my inspiration. Thoughts of her making my hand write like it had a mind of its own. I didn’t have to think of anything. The words just came to me, and before I knew it, I was able to explain exactly how I felt about her. It was something I’d never been able to tell her.
I’ve written love poems for her every now and again, but as I looked at what I had in front of me, I knew none of them could compare.
So I waited.

As soon as the bell rang, I made my way to the library, praying to God that everything would work out. I just hope Joe managed to slip that note into her locker.

-------

Once a week, a handful of students would get together in the school’s library to express ourselves through song, poetry or whatever else we had up our sleeves. It was the school’s idea to promote expression of self and creativity. I guess it helped, because before this all started I was hardly writing on a consistent basis.
I was comfortable here. It took a while before I summoned up the courage to go to my first session and read something I had written. But soon enough, I was here every week. And Cathy had been here to listen to me every time.
As I walked up to sign up and read my poem, the teacher that was in charge of the proceedings walked up to me.

“Reading another poem, Marcus?”
“You got it, Mr. Filipe.”
“Is it the one I’ve been telling you to read since last month?”
“Nope. I wrote this one a few minutes ago actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well do your thing then. You’re first up.”
“Thank you.”

When I stood up in front of the audience, there were about thirty people there. And right in the middle was Cathy, her face blank, and beside her was Victoria. I see Joe sitting in the back giving me the thumbs up. I reply with a grin and a nod. Now I just needed to have faith.
Before you read your poem, it was customary to do a short introduction. I hadn’t really planned one, but I excelled at making up excuses and the like on the spot.

“Now, you guys know I do a bit of everything. I’ve done a couple of songs, and I write poems about anything I feel like. Right now, I’m going to read a love poem that hopefully explains something to a person that’s really important to me. I just wrote it today, but I hope you guys can relate to it. And I hope you guys enjoy it. It’s called I Don’t Love You.”
Upon hearing the title, a few people laughed. I know it’s not the greatest title of a poem that declares how much somebody means to you, but that’s what brought all of this up. In any case, she was the only one that needed to understand why I gave it the title I did.

As I cleared my throat and began to read my poem, I looked Cathy right in the eyes. And when I read it, I said every single word to her, as if we were the only two people in the room.

This one’s for you. I hope this explains everything.

“I don’t love you. It’s not that I don’t. And it’s not that I can’t. It’s because I don’t want to love you.

See…I refuse to let what we have be generalized into something any less specific than how we define it ourselves. How we feel about each other. How we see ourselves. And how we explain it.

Music, movies and poetry, can’t say as much as I could. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I could either. You make me feel like…some word that hasn’t even been invented yet…I’m infloveuated.”

A round of ooh’s and ahh’s go around the room. But I don’t pay attention to anyone else. All I see is her. And she was the only one that mattered that day. I was speaking directly to her, and I didn’t care about what anyone else thought. She was the one I was infloveuated with.

“Because a made up word is the only way I can tell you how I feel. Not through this poem, not through the many I’ve written you. And not through the songs I’ve written for you…But through a word that means more than “love”. A word that hasn’t been used so many times and thrown around so casually it’s lost its true meaning.

You see…that’s exactly what’s happened to “love”. I still hold it by the same standards as William Shakespeare and Pablo Neruda. But the people like me in this world are running out. While you are incomparable.
Yet I still can’t love you.

But I’d actually say that I loved you, for the sole purpose of keeping your attention for a few minutes longer while I finish this poem.

Then maybe you’d see that I can’t really love you…Nor do I want to.”

Everybody laughs. But soon enough, all the giggles are muffled again. Everyone can tell that I really mean what I’m saying, and I’m thankful for the fact that they understood.

“Because those who have ‘loved’ and have ‘been loved’ have already been through enough. They have been misused, mistreated, abused, misunderstood and ignored.
Just like the word. And just like its meaning.”

Some people clap, the rest stay silent. My eyes remain locked with Cathy’s. Tears begin to stream down her face, she smiles and her dimples appear on those cheeks I always found so cute. They drove me crazy. They really did.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I continued on with my reading.

“Love’s been bandied about too much. From countless love songs to Hallmark cards, it’s not as personal as it used to be. It used to mean something. It used to mean you actually “loved” something. Now it just means you like it a lot.

Another guy might “love” you. But I love banana Slurpees from 7-11. So you’re obviously equal to a frozen, artificial beverage…So what should you believe?

I don’t put faith in a single word that’s supposed to embody the deepest of human emotions. One that consists of a single syllable. So instead, I craft a picture with a thousand words.
Though not one of them say that I want to love you.

There’s no word for the bond that I want to share with you. A bond that gives me superpowers just being close to you. A bond that makes me rethink about my entire outlook on life and look at it in another way. A bond that makes me want to grow up, be mature and suit up. A bond that makes me wish that I had met you the day I was born. Because I can look back and regret every single second I’ve spent without you in my life.
I’m not talking about 007…I’m talking about a bond that makes me write down every single thing I like about you, then try to decide if I love them, or if I just like them. But I just can’t seem to finish the list. I’m talking about a bond where I know exactly what you’re thinking. A bond where I can finish your sentences…but I don’t, because the sound of your voice sets my soul on fire. Don’t get it wrong…I don’t love you.”

By now, no one makes a single sound. They all wait with bated breath for my next confession of emotions toward the girl that had singlehandedly captured my heart. My voice heavy with emotion, I breathlessly carry on.

“But I do want to be like your living, breathing diary. The one you open your heart to when you have no one else to talk to. Fill me in…fill me up with words as I let the ink sink into every crevice and every pore, and I come to understand you better than anyone else ever could.
Though I still couldn’t love you.

But I do want to be there for you. I want to be the ear you confide in, the eyes you gaze into, the hand you hold and the shoulder you cry on. But most of all, I want to be the one that puts a smile on your face.”

The girls in the audience respond with “Aww”s. I’m starting to tear up myself. But I hold it in. Men don’t cry. And I won’t. At least not right now…

“I want to share a connection so deep, that the fathoms of my heart and my mind intertwining with yours could be bridged from across the universe. With thoughts alone, I could share with you, the most intimate conversation from across a crowded room. I want to be your BFF. So that no matter how mad we get at each other, we couldn’t stay that way for long. Then as quickly as it all started, we make up and everything would be fine again because we know each other will always be there.

But “love” won’t. It’s on life support and there’s nothing we can do to make the notion of love last longer. I think it’s time to pull the plug and restart with a whole other concept, and a whole other word. A word that means more than what “love” has devolved into.

But we could get together and recreate everything that that word was supposed to mean. Erase the undefined, yet cliché definition of it, and rewrite it ourselves with invisible ink. Because no one else needs to see it. You see, love is a whole lot like faith. And it’s a whole lot like the wind. You know it’s there, but you can’t see it. Neither can you explain it.

It’s the same way how I feel about you. And I’m pretty sure it’s not “love” I’m feeling.
Because I don’t love you…and I can’t love you. Neither do I want to.

You see…I’m already infloveuated.”

As the last word escapes from between my lips, I see Cathy break into the first real smile she’d given me in days. And I have to smile too.
My friends and audience stand up and clap, but everyone is a blur to me. All I see is Cathy, still sitting down, wiping the tears from her eyes.

As the next speaker strolls up to read their poem, I walk up to Cathy and put my hand over hers. Without a word she takes a hold of mine. We leave the library and stand before each other in the hallway.
She doesn’t say anything, so I guess I have to talk first.

“I hope that explains everything.”
“It did.”
“And...?”
“I don’t love you anymore.”
“What!?”
“Yeah. Now I’m just infloveuated.”

She laughs and everything’s back to normal again. I hold her tightly, wishing everyday was like this. As her tears roll down onto my shoulder, I let it go, and I start crying too.