To Those Who Wonder Why I No Longer Trust:
I was a freshman when he came into my life. He entered like a tornado, throwing around insults and destroying my school projects. He harassed me every time we passed in the halls, acting a bit more like an animal than a sixteen year old boy. He told me I needed to try harder. Be better. Learn to take a hit and don’t back down. On the day I turned fifteen, as I anticipated impact, to my surprise he instead handed me a small present. I hid my confusion in case it set him off again. A few days later, the boy from smoldering ashes reignited a spark inside of him when he told me he was in love with me. It was the first time my eyes truly met his. The first time I was exposed to the dark mahogany that was kept away for so long. But I didn’t answer quickly enough, and he turned away. I quickly realized that he hid his eyes, his smile, and all other forms of emotion for fear that he would be seen as human, instead of the tough shell he pretended to be. After a month of consideration, I said yes to give him a chance, to see if he really was different. That night he opened back up, showing me little parts of his soul at a time, and I fell in love with the color of mahogany. Six months later, it all fell apart; there was too much fighting and not enough communication. We stayed friends, but it wasn’t long before he turned against me again. He no longer let me look into his eyes. I never thought anything could be worse than the punches, until silence, tension, and dirty looks was all that I was allowed. Right when I had accepted the fact that he wasn’t coming back, he did. He told me he loved me and shouldn’t have let me go, even said he wanted to give it another try, but quickly shut me back out. Weeks passed and he said we could give it a shot. He reminded me what it was like to ride in the stars and how it felt to be on top of the world. His kiss was my own personal form of heroin, and I’d get high in the halls like everyone else, addicted, and not wanting to go to class without a fix. But then he tore it away, forcing me to learn to love myself, despite the want to depend on someone else. The thing is, no matter how hard I try, I won’t ever stop loving him, just maybe not in the way I once did. I am in love with the memories, the lessons, the experience, the way I grew. I will always remember the boy who rose from the ashes for me, who went the distance when I was barely willing to stand, the boy who loved me even when I couldn’t love myself and made sure to pick me up when I had fallen. I would prefer for him to still be in my life, but above all, I wish for him to be happy, and to find the peace that he has allowed me to find within myself. I may not be able to have him in any other way than a distant memory, but my heart will always hold a special place for the color of mahogany.