The Truth.

When I glanced back at him yesterday, and he turned around, trying to ignore me, I instead slid inch by inch with each ignorance he gave. We haven’t seen each other for 3 weeks – we used to give glances, stares, semi-shy smiles, across the hall of lectures – the blabbing of the blabber (the lecturer) made both of us swivel to each other. With our eyes, with a slight turn of our heads.

Yesterday. OH. Yesterday.

We finally met. After our prolong 3 weeks of avoidance.

We avoided each other even more then. Yesterday. He tried to turn around, but he couldn’t. His body forbade him to do so. He continued focusing on that one little corner of the aisle, trying to let go of his gaze of me.

As I inched even closer, scanning for olives across the aisle, I too tried to look at him. I tried to smile at him, I tried to glance back at him. Like we usually did. Our routine. 

But I too couldn’t. My body forbade me as well. The long fringe of my hair, covering half of my face, the curtain of black swept across it. To hide my embarrassment – to save myself. The surge of feelings that I once had known but threw out, rose up like an uncontrollable wave. A wave of raw emotions swept within me, swirling across my mind, trying to reach him. 

But the upfront wall was there. He put it up, to save himself. 

We didn’t know what to do. 

It carried on till one of us had left. Left the supermarket. 

He quickly glanced back, making sure that I still exist like before. It was the same kind of glance he would have, he would give, to me. The very same one after each blabbered lecture, before we departed.

He left. And turned right. Around the corner. And was gone. Gone. 


Gone before I knew it. 

Gone. Before I could smile at him, to tell him that I still cared for him. I still have the same feelings, no matter what I did. No matter how hard I stomped on it. I couldn’t stop thinking of him. 

I still thought of him without thinking of him. Even my subconcious couldn’t stop this poison. 

My very own thoughts was my own punishment to me. It was my own poison that I created. I haven’t the cure. An uncurable poison that prevails me to answer to him. To tell him from my own breathe, what I thought of him. 

But all I did before he vanished, was to speak to him through my eyes – the gateway of my mind- of what I thought of him. 

I still loved him. 

And it can’t be helped.


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