the story of us |h.s.|

25 - this is why we can't have nice things

"this is why we can't have nice things, darling (darling)
because you break them, i had to take them away"

Harry.

The past few weeks have probably been the least busy I've ever been in my entire life.

Andie's party went off without a hitch. As we were deciding what costumes we'd be wearing at the party, Lennon and Andie happened to see a commercial for a remake of The Addams Family. They both thought they were the coolest people they'd ever seen and decided it then.

Lennon liked the striped shirt Pugsley wore, so that's who she dressed up as, which left Andie with Wednesday, and she had no problem with that. Nadine and I begrudgingly agreed to being Morticia and Gomez. Of course, the girls insisted Millie be included in the fun, so we got her a pair of dog sunglasses and a black puppy bowler hat so she fit as our Cousin Itt.

Everyone else in attendance matched the costume theme, making the festivities a complete and total success.

Following it, though, is when the wheels started to come off their axis. Nadine, in balancing work and everything with Finn and Andie–not to mention myself and Lennon–in addition to the little league and the stupid Lantern Light and Seasonal Glow festival planning committee she's on, it's safe to say she has a lot on her plate.

I can only imagine the stress she's under right now. So, in reducing that for her, I started to pull back. Create some distance between us so the two of us would be placed onto the back burner of her mind. The last thing I wanted was for us to be another thing she had to worry about.

Which is why I'm hyper-aware of the fact that she hasn't really noticed the space I've given her. I don't think she's noticed our absence at all. It's been just under a month.

Frankly, I'm not sure our absence matters all that much to her. Through the whispers I've caught from Daphne, her and Finn are getting along better than they both expected–better than we all expected. And I wish I could say it didn't matter all that much to me, but it does. He must've changed and matured a lot.

We still haven't gone on that date.

It feels like my role in her life has been replaced. That I was an interim–transitional–period of her life and she's returned to the person she always was supposed to have. That she reinstated Finn in that position and turned her cheek so as to not see me anymore; me, the person she was kind enough to entertain for three quarters of the year.

The recent realization that I'd fallen hopelessly back in love with her hasn't exactly made this easier, either. I was so ready to tell her, to reveal this feeling in the light–open and honestly–only to have to shove it back down to the deep dark depths of my mind. Now, I'm not sure if my confession will ever see the light of day again.

So, instead of bottling it up, I've been writing it out. Not into my novel, for it wouldn't be appropriate there. The feelings I have for her are so raw and real, I wouldn't dare try to immortalize in that fictional story on account of the possibility I'd accidentally underplay it. I've started working through the overabundance of thoughts I hold for her, both romantically and platonically.

I've switched forms and started writing poetry. I haven't written poetry in what seems like forever, frankly because I hadn't felt the urge. Yet, for some reason, it just comes so naturally that I'd be foolish to ignore the prose that desperately wants to escape my head.

Of course, there's no intention of sharing this with anyone–especially the world. They're too personal for that. These poems are for myself and my own peace of mind. And for the time being, it's satisfying the desire to tell her and that's all that matters. The last thing I want is for this to become something else she has to worry about.