T.S. Wrokessel
Just a girl đ
T.S. Wrokessel
Just a girl đ
Just a girl đ
Just a girl đ
Marilyn walks slowly across the frozen lake, every step cautious and uncertain. Her eyes sweep across the surface, searching for any sign of Bear.
Bear, her chocolate lab, was no where in sight. She listened intently for his barks and whines. His paw prints had created a track in the snow, leading right toward the frozen lake.
âBear?â she called out wearily. Her voice cut through the cold air, bringing her back to the serious reality of the situation.
She turned her head, checking her surroundings again. A layer of misty frost rose from the ice, writhing around her legs and chilling her skin. Her nose was runny and pink and she could hardly feel her fingers.
Marilyn pulled the hood of her jacket tighter over her head and tugged her beanie over her ears. Sheâd get sick if she stayed out there any longer. Mother and Father would be so very madâŚ
But Bear was out there somewhere, lost in the cold without food or shelter. Marilynâs lip wobbled at the thought. She wasnât supposed to be out looking for himâMother had calmly explained that Bear was gone forever.
Marilyn took another step, further out over the frozen lake. Her boot slipped over the layer of ice and she screamed as she lost her balance. She fell and her back hit the ice. Just as it did, she heard it snapping beneath her. She tried to scramble away, but cracks spiderwebbed under her wherever she went.
At a particularly thin patch, the ice gave way completely. Marilyn plunged down into the freezing water, a guttural cry leaving her throat.
âHelp!â she screamed before her head slipped under. Her gloved hands desperately clawed at the edge, but the ice she grabbed simply broke off in chunks.
Nobody was going to come save her. Father was in the woods, looking for wood for the fire pit. Mother was at home, making dinner. She was supposed to be at home, safe and sound. Nobody else lived within a mile.
Bubbles rose around her. She was so coldâso so cold. She clutched another piece of ice, this one more sturdy, and tried pulling herself up.
Suddenly, she was rising out of the water. Something was pulling on her hood, back onto a thick part of the frozen lake.
Marilyn panted, hardly able to move. But she heard him pant and bark, howling to get help.
Her hands closed around his collar, pulling Bear into her arms and hugging onto his neck.
âOh Bear, thank you,â she whispered into his soft fur. âNow go get helpâŚgo get Father for me.â
Hide and seek has always gotten my adrenaline pumping. Now, I feel as if Iâve had five double shot espressos.
The announcement had echoed around the courtyard. People paused, pulling out their earbuds and looking at the sky as if the voice had come from the heavens. I snorted at their foolishness.
Oh well. If there was anything I knew as a pro hide-and-seeker, it was that a head start was always an advantage you wanted to take. I hurdled a flower boz and began weaving through pillars, searching for the nearest entrance to the facility.
My movements caused a wildfire of chain reactions. People began flying around frantically, as if the information was finally processing in their brains.
I finally found the door, my hand closing around the latch. I slipped inside, shutting the door quickly behind me with a snap. In this game, every man was for themselves. Nobody would be hiding with me.
I ran down the hallway, my sneakers squeaking on the tiled floors as I took sharp corners. I could hear other people, occasionally, moving around in the building as they looked for the best spot.
My eyes searched the area around me as I ran, studying every possible hiding place. I examined every nook and cranny, until I found myself in one of the drab, abandoned science labs of the facility.
It was unassuming, situated in the left wing. Nobody was inside. I walked in, my gaze immediately locked onto the wooden beams in the high ceiling.
Without hesitation, I scaled the brick wall, using the shoddy building job to my advantage. Uneven bricks of different shapes and sizes provided my foot and hand holds.
I felt a lot like some version of Tarzan, crawling up the wall like a spider and then hoisting myself onto the center beam. Once I was comfortably situated on top of it, I inched my way along it to the middle.
From there, I stepped onto another of the beams. I walked its length to the wall on my left, where a broken vent was inlaid. With a good old kick, the cover came free. I slipped inside and shut it as well as I could behind me, watching the room through the slanted gaps.
Finally with a chance to catch my breath, I came to the reality of my situation. I was enclosed in a small metal vent, my heavy breaths taking up all the oxygen around me. A sheen of sweat covered my forehead and my heart was pumping. I was overcome by that all too familiar feeling you got right when you found the perfect hiding spot during hide and seek. The pains of the bladder.
â3âŚ2âŚ1,â the voice said. He mustâve been talking through the speakers.
âReady or not, here I come.â
For 100 years, the kingdoms of Ramidere and Stohan had been locked in a deadly war, the Blood War. Too many lives had been lost and not even half the bodies had been recovered. The two kingdoms had been hopelessly stuck in a stalemate and neither about to wave a white flag. They were locked in some game of tug-a-war, with no side having a clear upper hand as territories were constantly being won and lost across the board. Although comparing war to a game is a fickle thing.
The carriage rolled over a gravel road. Margaux gazed out the small glass window, taking in the effects war had on the small town of Sirid. Explosions had crumbled homes and created gaping craters in the ground, which the coachman navigated around expertly. A half dozen guards marched outside, on either side of the vehicle. Their blue suits were primly pressed and perfectly buttoned, their weapons held in their hands. As they reached the end of the gravel road, Margaux felt her stomach sicken at the new sight.
The fight had been dubbed âThe Blood Warâ by the peopleâs of Ramidere for a reason. So many people had died on the sandy plains separating the two kingdoms that the ground was permanently stained red. And Sirid, being on the very outskirts of Ramidere, had a backyard view of the entire sprawling red desert.
âThis way, Your Highness,â a servant said to Margaux as he opened the door. She blinked and ducked out of the carriage, her boots landing firmly on the ground outside. She looked out at the desert with squinting eyes, taking in the bloodied sand and dead bodies. Her stomach twisted at the stench, which she could still smell from so far away. Those bodies, left out there. The bodies of the young and old, soldiers all the same who had died honoring their kingdom. Her kingdom. Soldiers who had loved ones, loved ones who would never get to give them a proper burial.
Margaux walked down the gravelly road, toward the stage where she was to give her speech. It would be broadcasted to the entire kingdom of Ramidere, to lift up their spirits and encourage more to join the war efforts. She normally didnât do such things, but with her fatherâs sickness and her motherâs recent death, there was nobody else to turn to. So Margaux stepped on stage and tipped her chin up, despite the uncomfortable swirling of her stomach. She hated the war, but she wasnât in charge, her father was. And perhaps it had gotten too out of hand for even the King to stop. Either way, she had no choice but to speak.
Margaux stood on the stage, the bloodied sands spreading out behind her. With the cameras trained on her and their red lights blinking, she began to recite the words she had practiced all morning. âKingdom of Ramidere. I am Margaux Zara Barlowe, your princess. I am currently in Sirid. Behind me you can see the Red Desert. You may thinkâŚâ
-
âFire!â Sergeant Tucker yelled. In sync with his fellow soldiers, Jameson loaded the barrel of his gun and fired over the wall of the trench. For a moment, he was able to glimpse the land beyond. It was filled with a thick smoke that turned the sky gray and made everything blurry. Hazy figures, Ramidere soldiers, fell as he fired his gun.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Shots from Jameson and the rest of Unit 367 rang out through the air, echoing in his ears. Beside him, another soldier by the name of Lukas was reloading his gun. Suddenly, more sounds were added into the mix. Different gunshots, coming from farther away. From the Ramidere soldiers. Jameson continued to fire his gun until he saw Lukas slump forward beside him. He mustâve gotten shotâthrough the fog, Jameson could see blood seeping from the shoulder of Lukasâs jacket and into the dirt.
âGet down!â Sergeant Tucker hollered, rolling down into the trench. âGET DOWN!â Jameson hastily dropped to the ground, pulling Lukas down with him. He couldnât be sure if his friend was alive or not, but there was no time to check. All eight soldiers and their Sergeant waited, rifles in hand, as enemy fire flew over their heads.
There was a cease in the gunshots. On the other side of Jameson, Sergeant Tucker cocked his head to listen. Jameson ears were ringing much too loudly for him to hear anything, so the silence made no difference to him. He started to get up again, preparing to peep over the lip of the trench and fire. But Sergeant Tucker caught him by the shoulder and held him down. He mustâve heard something.
âGRENADE!â Sergeant Tucker yelled. Despite his temporary loss of hearing, Jameson got the gist of what was happening. The soldiers scattered away from their spot in the trench. Jameson dragged Lukas by the straps of his army gear. He couldnât hear his friendâs groans and pleads to leave him behind. Even if he couldâve, he wouldnât have. No soldier was left behind, not in the Stohan Army, and definitely not in Unit 367.
When the grenade exploded, it was loud enough that Jameson could actually hear it. He was knocked off his feet and blown forward by a blast of heat. His head hit the ground hard and he thanked God for his helmet. Something heavy landed on top of him, but he was so dazed he could only register the pain. After a moment, he was dimly aware that blood was soaking his uniform, but he wasnât sure if it was his or not. Within a moment, he faded out of consciousness.
When Jameson came to, his ears were still ringing. The weight was gone from his back. His eyes were facing the still-smoky sky. He had gotten used to its color, just as he had gotten used to the putrid scent of dead bodies that filled the trenches. His head throbbed and his back was in excruciating pain.
Jameson laid there for a long time, waiting to die. He was in too much pain to move and he couldnât hear anything around him. He watched as it turned to nighttime, which was hard to tell with the blanket of smoke covering the battlefield. But he could make out a few twinkling stars, so he gazed up at them to distract himself from the pain. There was nothing but himself, his thoughts, and his pain. He longed for Zara, his love. What if he never saw her again? The thought made his heart hurt worse than even the pain did. How long would it take her to find out he had died? No, she would never find out, not unless she looked into it herself. She wouldnât be notified. Nobody knew they were in love. He couldnât even remember the last words he had written to her.
When it became clear he wasnât dying anytime soon, Jameson slowly hefted himself up. Pain shot up his back at the simple movements, but he ignored it the best he could and looked around. He was no longer in the first trench, that was for sure. Not a soul was in sight, though his pack was nearby. He crawled to it, using his hands to pull himself while his back felt like it was on fire.
Jameson slumped over beside his bag, digging into the contents to find a piece of crumpled old paper and a cracked pen. Then, with shaky hands and grit teeth, he began to write. It was a slow, agonizing process that required many breaks. But he knew he had to do it.
Dearest Zara, __ __ This letter will be short, for I am in too much pain to write as much as I usually do. Do not worry for me, I am fine. I am alive, and that is all that matters. I saved a manâs life at almost the sacrifice of my own. But do not be mad at me, either. It opened my eyes to the scary revelation that I may never see you again. It is very possible that I may die out hereâŚ
-
ââŚbut my love for you will never cease,â Margaux read, her fingers clasping the dirty parchment as if it were a lifeline, âYou are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. I am a lucky man to have met you and to receive your love. I am even luckier to be able to know that you will never have to fight in this war.â
Margaux paused, her heart dropping at the thought of losing him. All she did, every day, was worry for him. She felt so sick every time she did, like she was betraying her kingdom. But she loved Jamie more than she had ever loved anyone else.
âI donât know if Iâll be able to go back into battle. Iâm still out in the field, but Iâm pretty banged up,â she continued to read, âI donât like the thought of my friends fighting without me. At least youâll know Iâm safe. As of now, I am alive, but like always, I cannot tell you how long that will last for. So let us enjoy this while it lasts.â
Margaux took a deep breath before she read his last line, her eyes watering and her hands sweating from how tightly she held the paper. âI love you more than anything and I miss you more each day out here. Love, Jamie.â
-
As Jameson finished the last line, he sighed heavily and dropped the pen to the ground. It rolled across the dirt before stopped by his shoe. He closed his eyes for only a moment, gathering his strength and gritting his teeth.
I will wake back up, he told himself, I will get up and walk out of here alive for her. __ __ __ **And so he did. **
âYou don't understand, Maria! I love you!â he exploded, throwing his hands into the air, âI love you and I love you more than Iâve loved anyone else in my life. I love you so much that I feel like Iâm going crazyâ.â
âStop, please, stop,â Maria pleaded, moving around the back of the couch as he continued to corner her. They had traveled around the apartment that way. Every time he stepped forward, she put a piece of furniture in between them.
âDon't tell me to stop,â he yelled, desperation and frustration evident in his voice, âDon't do that to me, Maria. Because I need you to hear me. I need you to understand.â
âI canât!â she said, backing into the kitchen as he walked forward.
âWhat do you mean you can't! Do you not know the English language? I'm confessing my love for you, for theâ.â he said, growing exasperated. Why couldn't she just listen?
âNo,â she shook her head, hands grasping the kitchen counter. âNo, you don't know me.â
âI mean, I know one month isn't a lot of time to fall in love, but I thought we clicked, right from the beginning,â he said, trying to make his voice sound a bit more calm. âI know you, Maria. Youâre all I have leftâyouâre the only person Iâve had for a long time. And I love you. Can't you just say it back?â
His voice broke at the end, tugging on Mariaâs heartstrings. She walked around the kitchen island, her face pained with guilt. She couldn't give into this, she couldnât let him love her without the truth. She didn't deserve his love. But the way his voice was cracking and the vulnerability in his tone, it pulled at her. Maria had to look away as she spoke, so she wouldnât see the disappointment on his face when she spoke the inevitable words.
âNo, I can't,â she said softly and she couldnât help but look back at him. She wanted to cry as his face fell. She loved him, she really did. She wanted to tell him, to scream it from the highest building.
âSo all of this between usâIâve made it all up?â he asked, his voice much softer. The voice of a broken man. âYou don't love me?â
She could see the hurt and betrayal in his face. No, I do, she wanted to say. But it wasn't right of her. She couldn't let him love a monster without knowing.
âNoâit's just,â Maria broke off, sighing. She was so frustrated. She could see she was losing him and her heart raced. No, no, she couldnt lose him, too. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
âI love you. Butâ,â she swallowed. It was too late, she had to spit the rest out. âIâm a murderer. I killed your parents.â
_âYou promise me you wonât?â he asked me, his eyes searching mine. He held my face between his hands. I knew he was looking for any sign of doubt or lies on my face. _
âI wonât,â I swore honestly. âI could never do something like that, trust me.â
He had kissed me after that. I thought he had loved me, but he was just making me promise him something, when all the while he was lying to my face. I had meant what I said at the time. I had intended to stay true to my word. But when I figured out he had broken every promise he made to me, I saw it was justified for me to stop keeping mine.
I held onto my pen tightly, but not because I was nervous. I was so angry at everyone. The government had been manipulating me the entire time, using me for their benefit and walking away when the consequences came. I was tired of being played and deceived. I couldnât remember the last time I had made my own decision.
The line shuffled forward. There was only one person left in front of me. It was an old man who wobbled toward the dark figure. A piece of parchment appeared on the table between them. The Darkness began to speak to the man, but so quietly I could not hear. I busied myself with looking around the room instead.
It was an odd sort of place that didnât even seem real. It was dark and there was no source of light, yet you could see everything around you in a sort of washed-out gray color. It was hard to tell where the walls were and where the floor ended. I didnât know how high the ceiling was, or if there even was one. It couldâve been a cloudy night sky for all I knew. Everything seemed to be made of a dark obsidian tile that blended together.
My focus was drawn away from the mysteries of the strange room as the man disappeared into the Darkness. I took a confident step forward, bracing myself for what was about to happen. There was a table in front of me, rising to about my stomach. It was bare, the paper having gone away along with the old man. I looked up at the swirling Darkness. Shadows appeared and disappeared, forming the shape of a rather tall figure. As it realized who I was, it let out a loud bark of laughter. I suppressed the urge to shiver. Laughing seemed wrong in such a terrible place. I turned around, glancing at all the gaunt faces wallowing in their own self-pity behind me. All waiting to sell their life away.
I faced the Darkness again as it began to twist. An ageless man stepped out, looking amused and only slightly surprised. He had dark hair and pale, pasty skin. His features were sharp enough to cut glass and he wouldâve been attractive if he wasnât so unsettling. He looked young, but his eyes foretold of the wisdom he beheld. He was tall and almost lanky, but something about him screamed danger.
âGiovanna,â he said, leaning against the table to get a closer look at me. âWhat a pleasant surprise to see you here.â He paused, waving his hand through the air. âOf course, I canât say Iâm too shocked. I always knew you would end up hereâŚI just didnât expect you quite so soon.â
Perhaps the thing that was so unsettling about him was the fact he could act so flawlessly human and normal. Heâd perfected our mannerisms, our sarcasm, our phrases. He seemed so calm and almostâŚbored. I watched as shadows swirled around his fingers, forming figures. I realized it was him and I, ruling the world with matching crowns.
The Darkness wasnât one to be trusted, but I didnât trust anyone anymore. And he had yet to lie to me.
He stooped even closer, looming over me in his height and power. âWhy is it that youâve come to me so soon?â he said teasingly, âI thought I would have to wait a lot longer.â
âYou know why,â I said, my voice harsh and dead from disuse. âDonât make me say it.â
He shook his head. âNo,â he conceded, curiosity obviously piqued. He cocked his head at me as if I was some interesting specimen. âBut I can find out.â
I didnât have a chance to say anything as he reached out a finger and touched my temple. It was a cold, unwelcome sensation. A sharp pain suddenly shot through my head. I knew he was sifting through my memories, looking to find what had happened. Going through them like they were simple files. I couldâve tried to stop him. I probably shouldâve. But I saw no point. I was going to sell my soul to that Darkness. Why try to hide what he would find out eventually?
âAh,â he hummed, drawing his finger away. His hand fell back to his side and a smile crept across his face. âWhat a funny plot twist,â he said, his eyes dancing with some form of cruel dark humor, âThe hero goes against the public, because of the public. Who will save them now?â
My eyes were dark and flat. I said nothing. He spoke of the truth. There was no need for me to confirm it.
âThe people who tried to fix you just ended up breaking you, huh?â he asked. More rhetorical questions. I stared at him with eyes full of hatred. All I could think about was how Iâd gotten so manipulated.
âWell, to be quite frank, I donât think youâre broken,â he continued, twirling his hand in the air again. The Darkness formed a sheet of paper that appeared on the table. âIn fact, I donât think youâve ever been more together.â
Was he right? Was I together? I couldnât tell anymore. I was so blinded by my rage that I didnât care about anything else but revenge. My revenge. I looked at the paper on the table, clicking my pen. I didnât read the Terms and Conditions, because it was too dark (and who actually does?). Instead, my eyes dropped to the line at the bottom, right where I was supposed to sign.
âOnce you do this, you can never go back. You understand?â he reminded me, his voice taking on a more serious tone. He was just humoring me. I hadnât been able to turn back for a long time. I had started on a road that led me down a darker and darker path. It had gotten so dark I couldnât even see right from wrong anymore. I couldnât tell what was good and what was bad, who the heroes were, and who the villains were. I couldnât even see the truth from lies.
âI understand,â I said, my voice hollow. I was filled with such rage that I felt disconnected from the world.
âBefore you sign, I want to hear you say it,â he said with hungry eyes, the shadows around him growing darker. They played across his skin and twirled through his fingers. âI need you to admit it. Why are you here, Giovanna?â
Anger flashed through my eyes and boiled in my heart. Why? He already knew. But perhaps he was right. Perhaps I needed to say the words out loud.
âBecause they lied to me,â I said through gritted teeth, eyes rimmed with red anger, âThey manipulated me and murdered my family.â
My words echoed around the chamber. My own voice sounded foreign to me. It belonged to somebody full of bitterness and vengeance.
âReady to sign a deal with the devil?â he asked. The Darkness was deceiving, but I didnât care. He hadnât convinced me to be there. He had never lied to me. I was there on my own accord. It was the first time I was choosing to do something myself in a long time, without anyone breathing down my neck. I wasnât being forced by the government. Being in front of him felt right. His presence had instilled confidence in me toward my decision.
âSign right here,â he said in a buttery voice, his pale finger tapping the blank line.
I had no hesitation when my hand dipped to sign the paper.
Expectations. Stressed, anxious. Their dreamy aspirations and their many obligations. These fancy, pretty, perfect preparations. They expect from me brave declarations Isnât that the point of these nominations? All of this adoration, this admiration, this adulation? What if I canât live up to these reputations? What if I canât be the person in their imaginations? What if all this grand glorification turns into more macabre medications? I feel like Iâm constantly being watched under this careful, contrite consideration. Only one wrong step, only one mistake and they need a full explanation. Now it feels like itâs all invasive implications, all abrasive accusations, all concise complications. Not even my family, my friends bother to stop for a simple, mere little conversation. And they all ask me, âWhat are your current occupations, your personal organizations, your clever innovations?â They all act like itâs some big, insane revelation, when they realize my lack of high classification. And itâs all my fault I couldnât get a relevant recommendation, that I didnât meet the absurd acclamations. And Iâm to blame that I fell short of the candid, complex qualifications, that I quickly reached my limitations. Iâm the one responsible for not ruling nations, for not being known by populations, for being such a bad representation.
Why canât I do that?
Why donât I look like that?
Why doesnât my hair shine, my smile glimmer, and my skin glow?
Why canât I talk like her, get my way with every word?
Why doesnât my laugh sound like bells? Why donât my eyes put people under spells?
Why canât I answer every question in a confident tone?
Why do I feel so alone?
Why doesnât my every word make people laugh? Why donât I own a designer bag?
Why canât I be like her, getting driven around by a chauffeur?
Why am I not funny? Why donât I have that much money?
Why am I not pretty? Why am I not witty?
Why is she so perfected? Why am I so defected?
So rejected?
So neglected?
Love is like a stringâ pulling me along, fling after fling. Itâs not a game I like to play, but still I play it, day after day.
When life gives you lemons, you squeeze them for lemonade. When life gives you roses, you water them until theyâve decayed.
Love is like a ropeâ stringing me along, hope after hope. It holds me there, in the air, scaring me, affair after affair.
Yes, love scares me, but only because I know it will hurt. I know the thorns will scratch, I know the petals will fall to the dirt.
Love cannot last forever, like a rose cannot live past november. And I know this to be true, but still I let it string me along to you.
Love is a trapâ holding me hostage, mishap after mishap. Once youâre in, thereâs no going back, it tears you to shreds, scrap after scrap.
And now Iâve been caught in this trap, in this void, this pit, this dark gaping gap. I cannot crawl out, the walls are too slick with the tears Iâve cried and smudged lipstick.
Love is a roseâ itâs tender and caring with gloze after gloze. But itâs thorns are dangerous and sick, taking my blood, prick after prick.
Yes, love scares me, but only because I know it will end. And I will be broken, yet again. Heart broken, heart sick, heart soreâ
Heartless
And now the roses have decayed so itâs my time to walk away, with my water pitcher of love and my old garden glove.
Now I stand here, in front of your stone and I look at the roses, all alone. Theyâre dead now, too, just like you. I say goodbye to the roses, and to you, too.
Yes, being banished here is most definitely worse than death. Yet I can still think of 100 things worse.
The darkness and I have become akin. It was bound to happen at one pointâperhaps I simply pushed it to happen sooner rather than later. Now there is a certain comfort I find here, hidden amongst the shadows.
But it was not always this way. The tree limbs once looked like monstrous arms, reaching down to pluck me up and tear me to pieces. The rustling of leaves once sounded like evil, whispering voices.
I used to cry myself to sleep, chest aching and body shivering. I used to hate this place, but now it is all I know.
I could describe it to you for hours. It is all I can describe. The single tree, with its black bark and dark leaves. Whenever I reach out to touch one, it crumbles in my hand, like itâs been lit aflame.
In fact, everything here seems to have caught on fire. Everything disintegrates beneath my fingertips. Perhaps itâs because this place is shrouded in darkness, but everything is colored pitch black.
Everything except for the yellow fruits, which hang from the branches of the tree. They glow with a golden halo, yet never seem to cast their light upon anything else.
I eat one each day because thatâs all I require. If I eat anymore or any less, I have the inexplicable suspicion I will die.
Iâm not sure what lies beyond the tree, and I've never felt the need to figure out. Itâs another instinctâa little voice in my headâtelling me not to leave this spot. Itâs become my safe place, my haven.
Iâve rested my back upon this trunk ever since I arrived. I can hardly remember anything before. I don't even know how Iâm still alive.
And now I realize, there was nothing to be scared of at all. It was just my mind, tricking me. Once I was able to realize there are much worse things than being stuck here, it was much easier to find the good in things.
Somehow, even in a place filled with nothing but darkness and shadows, I was able to see a light of hope.
Or maybe Iâm going insaneâŚand it was just a figment of my imagination.
As long as I breathe, I will love you. As long as I see, I will notice you.
No matter what I do, remember this; I love you.
Butâ
As long as you breathe, you won't love me. As long as you see, you won't see me.
I see your eyesâ a mix of green and blue. They tell me lies; let me believe in me and you.
I stare at you, you can't even glance at me. I'm lost in their hue, and youâre lost in period three.
As long as I blink, I will love you. As long as I think, I will know you.
No matter what you see, just know; I love the thought of you and me.
Yetâ
As long as you blink, You can't love me. As long as you think, You can't know me.
I love you, But you can't love me.
One-sided love is such a horrible thing.