Reflection #8
Endings and beginnings are as different as exits and entrances. At the entrance, you'll always have the feeling that there is definitely something there, just one the other side. Something really special, for sure.
That was what she thought at that time.
Her heart was beating out a tremolo rhythm when she first met him in spring when both of them are twelve. They sat beside each other three hours a week inside the same circle less than six feet in diameter for a year. Less than ten sentences were exchanged, although the little spark inside both of them grew stronger and more each day.
In their eighth grade, their opportunity from the year before was lost. Though they don't share any classes in common, both parties made the initiative to contact one another throughout the day —and sometimes, throughout the night. Alongside, the spark continued to grow.
They were completely ignorant of this intimate activity taking place. They never noticed at all. Alas, towards the end of the year, the spark that took months to built has gone down crashing. She knew that the time would come, just the matter of when. She thought that it's deemed best for it to end, and to keep it in memory —as her studies was deteriorating.
Classes get reshuffled for those in the ninth grade. The chance was missed when she decided to take that alternative path. But when both realized that there's hope for that little spark to grow once again, everything was just too late. He thought that she fell in love with another person. She very much wanted him to understand her, to let him know that's untrue; to know that her heart's still for him.
The boy moved on; but the mesmeric glowing flame that was left was still clenched on to by the girl. Infinitesimal, yet she felt that it's of every worth to be held on and never for it to be relinquished.
If telepathy existed between them, they wouldn't have to try so hard, to explain so much, just to get the other to understand and know how one self felt. Waiting's a tormenting process, never should you let anyone wait for your reply. The longer it takes, the deeper the ripper sinks in.
Now that they are both going on to fifteen; all have long gone passed them.
That was what she thought at that time.
Her heart was beating out a tremolo rhythm when she first met him in spring when both of them are twelve. They sat beside each other three hours a week inside the same circle less than six feet in diameter for a year. Less than ten sentences were exchanged, although the little spark inside both of them grew stronger and more each day.
In their eighth grade, their opportunity from the year before was lost. Though they don't share any classes in common, both parties made the initiative to contact one another throughout the day —and sometimes, throughout the night. Alongside, the spark continued to grow.
They were completely ignorant of this intimate activity taking place. They never noticed at all. Alas, towards the end of the year, the spark that took months to built has gone down crashing. She knew that the time would come, just the matter of when. She thought that it's deemed best for it to end, and to keep it in memory —as her studies was deteriorating.
Classes get reshuffled for those in the ninth grade. The chance was missed when she decided to take that alternative path. But when both realized that there's hope for that little spark to grow once again, everything was just too late. He thought that she fell in love with another person. She very much wanted him to understand her, to let him know that's untrue; to know that her heart's still for him.
The boy moved on; but the mesmeric glowing flame that was left was still clenched on to by the girl. Infinitesimal, yet she felt that it's of every worth to be held on and never for it to be relinquished.
If telepathy existed between them, they wouldn't have to try so hard, to explain so much, just to get the other to understand and know how one self felt. Waiting's a tormenting process, never should you let anyone wait for your reply. The longer it takes, the deeper the ripper sinks in.
Now that they are both going on to fifteen; all have long gone passed them.
Labels: Reflection