A lot of you cared, just not enough.
A lot of you cared, just not enough.
How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?
She wants to believe my excuses so bad. Every time I lie, she wants to believe me so much.
A week went by and nothing. But eventually, as they always will, the rumors reached me. And everyone knows you can't disprove a rumor.
I can't. You can't rewrite the past.
That's why you did it. You wanted your world to collapse around you. You wanted everything to get as dark as possible.
After all, how often do we get a second chance?
I guess that's the point of it all. No one knows for certain how much impact they have on the lives of other people. Oftentimes, we have no clue. Yet we push it just the same
Then come to realize that you're making mountains out of molehills. Realize how petty you've become. Sure, it may feel like you can't get a grip on this town. It may seem that every time someone offers you a hand up, they just let go and you slip further down. But you must stop being so pessimistic, Hannah, and learn to trust those around you. So I do. One more time.
And after I dropped him off, I took the longest possible route home...I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally. . . I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it.
I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.
There are some sick and twisted people out there, Alex - and maybe I'm one of them - but the point is, when you hold people up for ridicule, you have to take responsibility when other people act on it.
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.
I hope you're ready, because I'm about to tell you the story of my life. More specifically, why my life ended. And if you're listening to these tapes, you're one of the reasons why.
This was no spur of the moment decision... do not take me for granted.
And everyone knows you can't disprove a rumor.
I left. When I should have stayed.
This was not a spurr-of-the-moment decision. Do not take me for granted... again.
Because it may seem like a small role now, but it matters. In the end, everything matters.
I sat. And I thought. And the more I thought, connecting the events in my life, the more my heart collapsed.
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 when you're posed, you know someone's watching. You put on your very best smile. You let your sweetest personality shine.
I take a slow sip of lukewarm coffee, reopen the book, and read the words scribbled in red ink near the top: Everyone needs an olly-olly-oxen-free.
We all know the sound a camera makes when it snaps a picture. Even some of the digitals do it for nostalgia's sake.
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.
I was too weak to walk. At least, I thought I was too weak. But in truth, I was too weak to try.
We didn't get that chance because I was afraid. Afraid I had no chance with you.
Definitely beats my first kiss. Seventh grade, Andrea Williams, behind the gym after school. She came over to my table at lunch, whispered the proposition in my ear, and I had a hard-on for the rest of the day.
If time was a string connecting all of your stories, that party would be the point where everything knots up. And that knot keeps growing and growing, getting more and more tangled, dragging the rest of your stories into it.
What you don't understand, you can make mean anything.
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?
It may seem that every time someone offers you a hand up, they just let go and you slip further down.
When you are done listening to all thirteen sides - because there are thirteen sides to every story - rewind the tapes, put them back in the box, and pass them on to whoever follows your little tale. And you, lucky number thirteen, you can take the tapes straight to hell. Depending on your religion, maybe I'll see you there.
Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful.
It's nothing. A school project. My go-to answer for anything. Staying out late? School project. Need extra money? School project.
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.
Fun drunks make a nice addition to any party. Not looking to fight. Not looking to score. Just looking to get drunk and laugh.
Like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you--just a tad--off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you're able to pull it back. Yet no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much--too tiring--and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy...or whatever...to happen.
You can hear rumors. But you can't know them.
God, I am freaking out. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe I just look guilty of something and he's picking up on that.
Maybe it didn't seem like a big deal to you Zach. But now, I hope you understand. My world was collapsing. I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered. And you? You took that hope away. You decided I didn't deserve to have it.
You can't go back to how things were. How you thought they were. All you really have is...now.
Here's a tip. If you touch a girl, even as joke, and she pushes you off, leave . . . her . . . alone. Don't touch her. Anywhere! Just stop. Your touch does nothing but sicken her.
Maybe you didn't know what people thought of you because they themselves didn't know what they thought of you. Maybe you didn't give us enough to go on, Hannah.
You told me I wrote that poem because I was afraid of dealing with myself. And I used my mom as an excuse, accusing her of not appreciating or accepting me, when I should have been saying those words into a mirror.
A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.
How in the world was I alone? Because I wanted to be. That's all I can say. It's all that makes sense to me.
My heart and my trust were in the process of collapsing. And that collapse created a vacuum in my chest.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories