"But I love you, Lizzie," he says, on the couch in my living room, his voice quivering and unstable. I look into his (Green? Blue? Brown? Hazel?) eyes and see the pleading, the begging for forgiveness. The warm colours that used to reassure me, make me know that somebody loved me. And I loved him. But now that warmth is gone. I shiver at the coldness of his eyes, and look away, placidly counting the fringes on the pillow next to me.
I blink away the tears as memories of different, happier times flash through my head, of love. It was in fact on this very couch that I discovered I loved him. We were watching a movie about these best friends falling in love, and my heart had pounded at my sudden realization. It was like a miracle; this boy I had known my whole life was the one I was falling in love with. We couldn't surrender to the magic of love that bound us together. And as I sat there beside him, I was overwhelmed; I wanted to scream to the world that the love I felt for this boy felt bigger than my whole body. I struggled to find the words you say to somebody like him. But no words escaped my lips, and he placed his hand on my arm, and said it for the first time. "I love you, Lizzie." And it was magic, and… if only…
But the magic was gone. The sudden yanking me back to the present made my stomach lurch.
"Doesn't it mean anything to you that I love you?" Um, yes. "Please, Liz, I'm so sorry." He reaches out for my hand, clasps it. "Don't touch me," I say. The pain is too much. Him touching me makes me feel dizzy and weak. It was only two days ago when I found out, he told me, that he kissed another girl. Not just any girl, my old best friend Miranda. She's his best friend, still. I stay quiet, silent, not because I don't know what to say, because I'm afraid my voice will betray me, that my words will quiver and I'll collapse. My lips start to form words, and I look into his eyes, and stop myself. Maybe this can work. I picture him with his arms around me, with my head tucked into his chest, him kissing the top of my head, making everything OK when I needed it to be. Now, more than ever, I need the comfort of his strong arms and him right behind me, holding my back up. I meet his eyes once again, and I know that I need this to end. Words attempt to surface again, and I hold them back. I want to get up, say goodbye, not because I don't love him anymore. It's because I know that my love for him can never be bigger than my body.
When he gets up to leave, the pain in my heart throbs and it takes all my will power to not call after him, chase after him, kiss him again and make the pain go away. I know that I just did a strong thing, that I am strong, but right now I feel anything but strong. I finally let the tears stream down my cheeks, soaking the cushions. I sit there, silent and unmoving, and I wonder how I can go on when it feels like a half of me is missing.
And so I wait, wait for the wound in my heart to heal, and I know this is the time to move on, to a different path in my life. The fork in the roads has come, and someday my I will no longer hurt, but my scar will be there to remind me of the times we had together, good and bad.