It still hurts.
You finally ask him out when you cannot take it anymore.
It takes all of your barely existing courage to do so, but you have spent the last few days devastating yourself. Your chances are little, you know that, but you cannot help but hope.
That is what you hate so much about being in love: the ridiculous hopes.
It is what made you go crazy those last days, not knowing eating you up like acid, frizzling your nerves and driving you to the verge of a breakdown. So you know, you have to ask. Otherwise, there will be no way you will make it through this without snapping.
So, you do ask.
You are not surprised when he tells you no.
It still hurts.
He explains himself – that he has no time, the age difference. How he ended a relationship that had lasted for almost a decade not all that long ago.
That going out with each other would be very irrational.
You understand all of it, of course you do. You know he is right.
It still hurts.
Somehow, you manage to walk back, talking to him, without showing how hard it really is. You are feeling kind of numb. Like you should be crying, but are not.
It still hurts.
When you finally reach your destination and you part company, however, you have used up all of your self-control and strength. The nearest toilet promises to be the perfect place for a short hysterical crying fit. Breathing in and out deeply you try you best to calm down again. Cold water is almost enough to hide the traces, so you take your glasses off for the moment. It is less obvious then.
Sitting at your desk you realize how hard this is really going to be – not crying that is. Whenever you allow your thoughts to wander, you are on the verge of tears once again.
Tissues are an amazing invention.
You have no idea how to make it through the day without making a huge fool of yourself by breaking down crying in front of the others. The few friends you told about him try to console you. They tell you about how it will get better once you stop seeing him every day. They advise you to try and distract yourself. They express their respect, for daring to tell him.
It still hurts.
You think about the push-ups you will make later, in order to push yourself beyond your limits. Maybe you will even go running, in the evening, when everyone else is inside and no one will see your tears. You think about hiding beneath your blankets and wallowing in self-pity.
You think about suffocating the hurt with a different kind of pain.
You know that your friends will never forgive you if you do the latter. So you don't.
Later, you pass him in the corridor.
He darts you an apologetic glance.
It still hurts.
You spend the evening, and the night, and the next days trying not to think about that ever-present pain in your chest.
It will pass.
You know that.
It still hurts.
A few days later she gathers her own courage, walks up to you and asks you the same question.
It almost breaks your heart again, having to tell her no. You remember the no you got not so long ago, and how much it pained you.
She looks at you with tears in her eyes, reminding you of yourself once again.
"There is nothing I can do, is there?" she asks, voice resigned.
"No," you answer honestly, "there is not." And you know that it is true for yourself as well. There is nothing either of you can do.
It still hurts.
You think about how he must have felt, telling you no. You know both sides now.
Both sides suck.
.
It still hurts.