Last Stand

What hurts the most about reading love letters, is when they aren’t about that fairytale ending, for that boy. Seeing and feeling the passion behind those words, seeing The Girl with someone else. But having a history, a story with her. 

Once upon a time, she needed him, not the other him. And He was the only him she wanted. Knowing that he loved her for her. He knows her. She knows him. 

It was having to come to the realization that that flame which has burned for her for so long, for a while now, is dead and gone. She’s that rose he went to touch, but only grabbed a thorn. For far too long now, boy and girl walked a perilous line of “love” and “in love.” 

And he finds himself somewhat relieved to be out of such a nerve-wracking, heart-wrenching terrible place. Pain. Pain means suffering. Then why does it seem so comforting? 

And do you know the sickest part? What makes a place like that so terrible is something that is ordinarily really a beautiful thing; hope. Hope for that one in a million chance to click for her.

 And it hits everyone hard. Suddenly they realize that all this time, they’ve only really been believing, wishing, and living a falsehood. A falsehood of actually being special, that they would be the one to beat the odds; the odds of The Girl falling in love with them.
 

He’s no different. Ironic really, believing he was special… just like everyone else. 

So now, just like that: she’s precisely and indubitably stuck where she has always belonged in his life; friend-zoned. 

So for now, he sits alone on an old, wooden porch in Georgia, smiling to himself.  He listens to the rain and feels breeze on his face. He can’t help but think that this is love… and life….and hurt… and pain. 

Some girl he just can’t and won’t forget her face… but somehow, you’re that girl and I think I’m that boy you’ve just replaced.