Journal Entry: Leave It All Behind

Journal entry: leave it all behind

My eyes shut. I try to block out the faint buzz of my cell phone. It's loud vibrate muffled under layers of pillows frustrates me after my pathetic attempt to lose it forever. My mistake, leaving it on vibrate. Pillows flying, the phone resurfaces, and I hastily turn it to silent. The message claims to be from someone I don't know, it's number not having been saved previously, but nevertheless I recognize it. I breathe out hard, angrily. It is THAT person. I know reflexively that it reads "I'm sorry". I hold down the power button, refusing to look at it in case I reply. One thing I've learned is that if I don't reply, no matter how hard it is to resist, it turns out better. I sigh heavily and lean against the closet door. My phone surface reflects the ceiling light, teasing me, begging me to open it and respond. To drive him away further. My willpower is weak. I power up my cell again, tapping the metallic body against my thigh impatiently. The stupid thing takes forever to turn on. I open up his last message, a grim satisfaction fills me seeing his message indeed showed his feeble apology. Those two words I despise. I'm sorry. Two words that are supposed to make you feel better, to console you when something goes wrong, just make me so angry. If you're really SORRY, then why don't you do something about it instead of saying those words that don't even convey emotion over text. I tap in. "Say that again and I'll hit you." I put my cell back to its normal volume, on low, so it will vibrate and give a little beep sequence if I get a text.

I waste away the day, going from room to room in the house. Electronic device to electronic device. Book to book. Uncomfortable position to yet another extremely uncomfortable position, struggling to get comfortable while waiting for a call, a reply, anything really. I sit on the front steps outside the house, staring at the sky. Examining myself honestly, I realize how pathetic I am. I have wasted a whole day waiting for recognition that I will never get. Actions without meaning. Words without emotion. That's what I spent my summer obsessing over. A boy who couldn't like me the way I liked him. Pathetic.

I sit on the front steps, search the horizon for meaning. My eyes travel the tree line. Nothing inspires me, jumps out and shouts "this is the way to be alive!" I lower my searching gaze to my lap, hating myself for my naïveté. I turn over my hand and examine my nails. They slope in a gentle curve, cut short, but even. My skin feels soft and warm. Wisps of hair flutter around my face in a gentle breeze. These sensations remind me that I am still young, maybe even pretty. I stand, whistle to my dog, a small lap dog of the cutest proportions. She trots up the steps to slip through the door ahead of me. I smile and think that I still have my life and a healthy body. I lift my chin. I refuse to let this petty boy drama get in the way of my happiness.