Did the poet use red to symbolize blood? Anger? Lust? Or is the wheelbarrow simply red because red sounded better than black?
But I need to wake up somehow. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s best to get through the day half-asleep. Maybe that’s the only way to get through today.
But I do know which is the least popular. The truth.
And everyone knows you can’t disprove a rumor.
God, I am freaking out. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe I just look guilty of something and he’s picking up on that.
Watching those guys pummel each other so no one would suspect them of being weak was too much for me. Their reputations were more important than their faces.
Because I’ve heard so many stories that I don’t know which one is the most popular. But I do know which is the least popular. The truth.
Whenever I’m out late she makes a sandwich for my school lunch. I always protest and tell her not to, saying I’ll make my own when I get home. But she likes it. She says it reminds her of when I was younger and needed her.
And as I stood there in the hallway – alone – trying to understand what had just happened and why, I realized the truth: I wasn’t worth an explanation – not even a reaction. Not in your eyes.
There are also the people too bizarre to ignore, like Kyle Simpson. Future male stripper.
My heart and my trust were in the process of collapsing. And that collapse created a vacuum in my chest.
Don’t give up on me now. I’m sorry. I guess that’s an odd thing to say. Because isn’t that what I’m doing? Giving up?
I was too weak to walk. At least, I thought I was too weak. But in truth, I was too weak to try.
She wants to believe my excuses so bad. Every time I lie, she wants to believe me so much.
That’s when I said it. That’s when I whispered to her, “I’m so sorry.” Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.
The longer you wait, and this is true, the slower the hands will move.
And here he is again, yet things feel like they’ll never be as easy between us as they once were.
Rejection always hurts, but having it come from my best friend was the worst.
That is all that happened. Why did you hear something else?
Do you remember the last thing you said to me? The last thing you did to me? And what was the last thing I said to you? Because trust me when I said it I knew it was the last thing I’d ever say.
I didn’t humiliate him by pointing it out because that’s not how you treat friends. You don’t judge them. You don’t humiliate them. I bet he’s been judging me all along.