Catching Feelings

Memorandum 14

Sometimes words can tear your heart apart. My heart was being torn in that instant- it was like ripping off wallpaper. I felt as if my skin had been shed off and the blood flowing in my body continued to drip uncontrollably- that's how my heart felt. 

It may have been the boost of confidence that urged me to face you when I stormed out of the bathroom. But I was lost now.

A mixture of emotions was running through my mind. My lips twisted in uncertainty. 

What was I supposed to feel?

I was enraged, ashamed, humiliated, embarrassed and then I was upset.

In my mind, I couldn't help but picture the image of a cat grasping a mouse with its claws. You were the cat, Ira. I was the mouse. Somewhere along the way, I got the message. You were toying with me.

"Listen, Ira, you shouldn't be doing this." I began to bite cheek hard to desperately distract myself from tearing up. "You shouldn't be toying with me."

Your wide eyes instantly made contact with mine, "I-"

I cut you off, "If you already had someone, why would you need me? Clearly, you haven't gotten over her. Why are you trying to get into a relationship with me?"

My self-esteem at this point was low- rock bottom. I glanced at my wet dark blonde locks that hang around my face. It was a disgusting dirty color. My strands were tangled in knotted bunches around my shoulders. 

You should have just said I was a hindrance to you. I couldn't make you change your mind or distract you from her because I wasn't her. How could I compete with someone who had your heart, yet wasn't living anymore? 

I couldn't.

I covered my eyes with my left hand in defeat. I couldn't look at your dark eyes. "I think it's better if we leave this for tomorrow."

"No, you have to know now," you spoke with a strong authoritative voice. My body froze. Removing my left hand, I made the decision that I wasn't going to hide. You were the closest person I've had in ages.

"She was the girl I first fell in love with." Your sharp eyes continued to stare me down- I couldn't breathe. Your eyes were like imaginary arms strangling me. I would feel a watery substance itch at my throat and get caught- it was my own saliva. 

You were pulling strings- tugging on my emotions.

"She had fiery bright red hair. She was often found a block away from where I lived. Rose would sell flowers at the corner of the street."

"Rose was a florist then?" I asked. I breathed in through my nose leisurely and hesitantly.

You ran your hand through your jet black hair, "Not sure, I was never close enough to know. One thing is for sure, she would always rise early before dawn to sell them."

I was uncomfortable talking about your 'ex.' It made me want the ground to swallow me because  I felt like I was being compared to Rose, indirectly. "So h-how did you fall in l-" I stuttered my words as you cut me off.

"Honestly, I think it was all just a fluke. She was just persistent and a hard worker that needed to make a living. I was walking down the street when she came up to me and touched my hand when she tried to give me a dandelion."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Wait, so you fell in love with her because she touched you? Just like me?"

"Yes." Your accent was heavier than usual, "but it was nice I guess you could say."

"Why?"

"It was the first time I realized I had this curse. I liked someone for the first time too. You know what they say, you can't ever forget your first love." Ira, your eyes sunk into a pool of sadness that instant.

I could feel a slight tingling burn through my nose. I'm sure you could have seen your reflection in my glossy eyes if it weren't for my hand covering my eyes.

Powerless- I was cornered. I wanted to help you. What was I supposed to do? Wash away your memories of her... to forget the pain?

Hah- Wash away your memories? How?

The tears surfacing at the corner of my eyes couldn't- it was like comparing a glass of water to an ocean. I couldn't change your emotions, but I could probably be there for you in the present. 

But that wasn't what I wanted. 

I didn't want to be on the sidelines- watching you suffer. I'd rather have my own game, being the center of attention with no sidelines. I didn't want anyone to watch me, not when I was weak- nor when I was unbelievably happy. Call me selfish, Ira. It was like having my own personal secret. 

Hiding my glory meant that I celebrated my success on my own. Hiding my fears and insecurities were more comforting than boldly exposing them. Perhaps, it was like being blessed to come across a valuable treasure, but there would always be this lingering feeling of forsaking it because death could bring its threatening claws at my neck any moment. I wouldn't speak of it to anyone.