True Love’s Bliss

Nightmares from the Minds of National English Honor Society Students

By Stephanie Hudd, Guest Contributor

He was always looking at me. Catching a fleeting glimpse of my hair, lingering just a little too long on my smile, asking, practically begging, to be noticed. He wanted attention, my attention. I took pity, for I knew that such desperation meant interest, and I would not be the saint I am if I did not heed such a request.

Eventually I began laughing a little longer at his jokes, dressing a tad better, morphing into the ideal manic pixie dream. A girl who could rock the world, shake the trees, become better than anything you could conjure. I was ready to accept his unspoken admiration, simply, a changeling fully metamorphized. Fate was on my side, for he seeped into my skull, turning up at every corner. No arbitrary notion could change the fact that he wanted to be seen by me, and only me.

Learning snippets of interest, a song choice, a book pick, a favorite movie, the little pieces of his persona proved to pull me deeper into infatuation. A collage of purpose could not be confounded by any factor, not even those he did not know he had shared. His presence, body language and voice called as a siren, cutting through the sea, only to find me.

People can be present, but not there. I was completely, totally, and irrevocably attendant. After class, the orchestra crescendos to the apex of intensity, the day of a date. I ask if he would like to go to a café, an elemental aspect of his façade to loving a different time, unhappy with the present. But I could make now better. I am making now better. As the crisp air consumes me, the hunger of convincing a soulmate is festering deeper. The mocha burns my lips as I am perfectly lovely, perfectly formulated, perfectly perfect for him. I know him, I know him better than he does. I know what is good and righteous. I know I am his unassuming idol. How could I not be?

Maybe it was just because he was enamored with me, but he could not help to make much conversation. An uneasy glance, the movement to another table, slipping away. I hurried over to let him know it was okay to be in shock when a dream comes true, for I know it can be nerve racking. As he rushed out of the shop, I chased and hurried after my prince. He was Cinderella, but I would not let him hide. I stopped him in an alley and embraced him from behind, a true sentiment to how his love for me snuck up. He flipped around and stared, life fleeting from his eyes. He cried and wept, much to my confusion. How could he not understand? How could he not see the finite definition of what we shared? I did this for him because he wanted it. He begged for me, for my attention. It was not until the red pooled up around my fateful angel that I finally understood.

Every love must come to an end.