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Understand "I see you don't understand the situation."
I don't understand. I can't understand. The pain you feel for such a person. I just can't. Even I don't understand why. Even though I don't know the whole situation, yet, I can't understand why.
"She's the first person I've opened up my heart to in such a long time."
She betrayed you. Threw you away like trash. You said this yourself and you still are loyal to her. Loyal to such a person. I try to understand but your logic isn't within my reach. It's frustrating but I try to understand.
I want to type the words out and send it to you, to comfort you and your broken soul. Even if it's to comfort you, to make it seem like there is someone out there in your reach, to understand you I can't lie in such a situation.
One Year...She bounced cheerfully along the corridors, not knowing just how shortly her happiness would stop. Her long hair swished by her waist and a happy smile was upon her face. As she rounded the corner a foot stuck out and tripped her.
Books flew everywhere as she fell far from gracefully to the ground. Hazel eyes blinked in confusion and then clouded with tears as the laughter and embarrassment rang into the depths of her ears.
Those she would have called friends, grinned down at her. They mocked her, they hurt her, they turned everyone against her. Or rather, she turned against everyone else. Loneliness on her horizon, she picked up her books and continued along the path. They were right; the first year of High School was absolutely terrible.
Upon arriving home that day, her sad and broken heart warmed a little. Flicking the switch for the computer to start, she sat on the chair to be taken away; taken away from the pain, the loneliness, the distrust, the paranoia and the depression.
Silence ConsumesI can distinctively describe our first meeting. It was a cold rainy day, clouds hiding the sun, showing a gray tainted color on the earth. Nothing could have been less surprising from the city of Seattle. Standing near a bus stop in front of Starbucks, you could see the difference between Seattle folk and tourists. When it rained, we let the droplets touch our skin, letting it wash away our sentimental worries. Tourists on the other hand, panic like ants, holding an umbrella close to their skull so not one drop would ruin their sweaters. Seeing this always makes me laugh meekly as I took a sip of my cappuccino.
Being the sixteen year old I was, I would observe my surroundings like there were a new adventure to explore. Then my eyes would fall upon a teen that looked around my age. Average short brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a tall broad figure, which made him unbearably hard to miss. Silly as it may seem, we would stand at the bus stop every day, waiting for the bus. He would be li
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