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Still Waiting
By Wisshen
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STILL WAITING
By Wisshen
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Author's Notes: Dark flash fiction. Bitter maturity
reflects on the loss of something that might never
have had been at all. Dedicated to all of you who
have been in this position. Stay strong.
Dated: 6th August 2000
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You know, it's a sad, sorry thing when you candidly
admit to yourself that your boyfriend is a bastard. An
intelligent, talented bastard, but a tactless bastard
all the same. Love can be a sucky thing. I'm sorry,
it's rude to dump on you like this without warning,
but you understand, right? It's easier to talk to a
stranger.
You know what people say about masks? You weave a lie
around yourself and wear it like a cloak so people
won't ever see your true heart. They can't hurt what
they can't see. The strongest among us wear no masks.
They wear their scars with quiet dignity, moving on
through each hurtful word, each painful action from
another. I'm not that strong. It's surprising what you
find hiding behind the smiles, the easy laughter and
conversation or brooding grouchiness of a stranger.
You see, everyone has a simple child inside that
merely wants attention. Love.
Hm? Oh, yeah, that's true. There are many variations
of meanings on that word. Love. Motherly love,
sisterly love, romantic love. Heck, people have
written *books* on the subject. Novels, research
papers and whatnot. Funny how humans always try to
turn something so simple into a complex tangle of a
puzzle, huh?
Myself, I've always thought of love as something very
simple. I love you, you love me; we'll both work on
being happy. But he doesn't quite get that. There has
to be… *conditions*. Remember what I said about masks?
I set mine aside when I met him, I allowed him to see
my true face, hear my true thoughts and feelings. And
what did he say? *I don't know you*. He really knows
how to twist the knife in. A nice, rusty old blade.
So, okay, fair enough, I'll let you get to know me. We
became friends. Never a mention of affection beyond
that of comrades.
Do you think I was wrong to want something more?
I asked him, one day, you see. He started off with the
whole '*I don't know you*' thing again, which was
unfair. But I hung on, even though I wanted to run. So
we settled into a grey area where we were more than
friends, but considerably less than lovebirds. Friends
of ours preferred to think the latter, and we allowed
them to think that. But it was an unsaid agreement
that there would be no sweet words, no nicknames and
nothing beyond brief shows of affection within the
boundaries of platonic touches and hugs.
I asked him again, when we seemed to be drifting
apart. He wasn't talking to me, *really* talking, you
see. Trivial matters like 'hi, how are you, what did
you do?' don't count as proper conversation in my
book. So after much procrastinating, he tells me he
doesn't know how much he cares. He doesn't know
whether he can or is in love with me. He didn't say
it, but I could see the hidden messages that told me
he was going to run if I mentioned how deep my
feelings ran. That bloody well hurt. So I smiled and
danced around the topic, hoping he would appreciate
the freedom, hoping he would give me an answer I could
accept. Stupid, yes.
I got tired of that.
And so, I've asked him yet again. He still doesn't
know. I'm tired of making it easy, tired of being
relegated last in his long list of things to do. I
know he cares, but it isn't enough. I've told him
quite plainly, that I'm fed up. Either he holds up his
end of responsibility and repair what we have, or I'm
gone. We can stay… *friends*.
I want an answer. You don't even have to say 'I love
you' if you're uncomfortable with it. I have plenty of
patience. Okay, so you're unsure. I'll give you time.
You tell me to wait here under the trees where we meet
every night, so I wait. Night after night until the
sun lightens the sky, and tomorrow becomes today.
I'm still waiting, you bastard.
One of these days, I won't be waiting any more.
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