False Hope

Throughout my life, I’ve met truly amazing people. They taught me things that I otherwise wouldn’t have learned on my own. There’s one person that stands out more than the others. She’s the only person to have ever made me cry.

Several years ago, I was someone else. I was someone that was filled to the brim with both ambition and regrets. When I met her, I honestly believed that there was something special about her. And yet, it wasn’t positive. I wanted to believe that she had darkness inside of her that most others couldn’t see.

I wanted her to open up to me, but I didn’t want to waste the time that I had with her. At this point, I hadn’t realized that it was limited. Creating happy memories with her was my only goal. Now, for my regrets.

It should be a sin to regret falling in love with someone, but I do. I truly do. I understand that the pain I felt could’ve blossomed into something else in the future. I could’ve grown. Transformed, even. I would have too if I hadn’t encountered her again.

Both of us had changed during our time apart. Our roles had reversed as well. She’s anxious to fall in love, while I can no longer see the point in doing so. She spoke of men. She spoke of friends. She spoke of her schooling. She spoke of many things.

I gave up.

In a few short hours, I realized something that an entire year of exposure hadn’t taught me:

I never had a chance in the first place.

I recalled the silent rejection I’d received from her. It eventually damaged our relationship. I’d thought it irreparable until a few well-placed words were said.

I feel as if the years are bearing down on me as I reflect on this lost time. I’ve aged by decades in such a short time. I am only at the noon of my sixteenth year, and yet my mind acts as if it’s my sixtieth.

The next time, I know what I must tell myself:

“Beware the lighter women. Their skin may be fair, but the repercussions are not.”