The fact of the matter was, and is that I miss and missed you too.

I hesitated at first. But Smith's voice swayed me. Whenever I'd hear that song, I would think of you. No matter what. It wasn't quite as bad as some other songs--at least that one I could still hear. Not like Daft Punk, or Coldplay. I couldn't listen to those for a while. But eventually I realized if I started censoring my music, I'd be rendered silent. But the happy melody and the playful lyrics made me finally press the key. It hadn't been the first time I'd hesitated on pressing it--no, fuck it was like the 1590328 time. But I kept telling myself that I couldn't just give in. Our conversations had begun to become too real, and it was beginning to tear and tear, until it got more and more raw. It'd be fine at first, but I would let something slip that wasn't meant to be taken with full attention, and you'd always catch it and analyze it. It would get misunderstood, but in some cases, understood far too well, and things would go back to an argumentative state. You'd leave, furious and frustrated, and I'd be left there trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. It was misunderstanding after misunderstanding, until it got to the point where the barriers were so sheer that anything could shatter them. It had to stop. And the only way to fix it was to stop talking entirely, which was what I'd hoped would never be necessary. I denied the thought so many times, thinking that it'd be fine, but eventually it was unbearable to think of the consequences. It was a matter of losing you momentarily or forever. I chose the first option.

That choice was mostly made by the things we both said in that on-going session of e-mails. You'd said things that you perhaps didn't mean to say, but I knew that you did mean them, and I could not refuse them or rebuke them because inside I knew it was true. But if you'd wanted to hurt me, you would've done that a long time ago. So I figured it was not an intentional attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. So I cut off contact entirely. No phone calls, no messages, no e-mails, not even looking for you because I knew if I could, I would talk to you.
The first couple of days, I let it off with the excuse that I was angry at what you'd said. That you were inconsiderate. That she just couldn't keep her damn mouth shut. But eventually, I knew that wasn't true. I stopped acting like I was still a stupid, ignorant child and accepted that it was not anyone else's fault but my own. At that point, I realized that if I did not fill up my mind with other things, I wouldn't be able to keep this up long. Conveniently enough, my mother had left for Colombia, and I would be home alone from the end of school to 7 every day, pretty much. So I'd bring a different person to the house every day. I'd surround myself with a different crowd every time to see what it was that I wanted. It worked for a while. I got to be with friends I missed, even though I saw them daily. I got to know others who I didn't know well enough. I saw who was fake and who was real. I was more attentive to everything around me. I noticed the beauty of the place I dreaded so much. I realized that spring can make even the worst hell-hole seem like a paradise. I was overtaken by flowers and green all around me, and with life bursting out of every little corner. It was beautiful. But then I'd start to fade away from the distractions, or the distractions would become normal and regular, and thoughts would revert back. Back to you. It was the worst in the mornings, and in the walks back home. I would see the tulips every day, and no matter how much I tried to escape them, I knew they were there. I wanted to pick one up and run to school, and open the door to my old homeroom and find you there, and wrap my fingers around your eyes and surprise you with your favorite flower. But I knew that wasn't possible. I was fine with that, for the most part. A part of me truly wished I could go to a different school. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so hard then.
The lunches weren't as bad. We'd spend our lunches leaning against a tree and watching everyone play soccer, and eventually we'd get a crowd of people to surround us, and that tree became a local spot for chatting after food. Not anymore. Now I'd just lie on a hill and turn up my iPod and stare at the clouds, making different shapes.
But the distractions ran out. The flowers died, and everything just turned green. People would constantly ask me why we weren't talking. It wasn't that I didn't want to explain it to them, it would just take too long for them to understand it. I spelled it out for four people, and four people only. The rest could ask them, or get a simple answer. The questions got tiring, too.
I'd sit in class wondering what you were doing that minute. Wondering if you missed me. If you cared about what I was doing, thinking, saying...
I'd sit in Algebra, and there would be that folded piece of paper, and your voice would come back.
"Here, hold on.....now, whenever you open this folder and you see this paper, you can open it and class won't be so long."

You'd written three words on it, and folded into the cover of the binder. I'd see it daily, and even though I didn't open it, the words would yell at me.
I began to hear different things. She'd tell me that you missed me, and the other one would tell me that you thought I was furious at you. Then he'd tell me you were waiting for me to talk to you. Why the hell couldn't they mind their own business? I didn't need to know that. I wanted to know, but I didn't need to. Poor Erika would say that if we couldn't get along, then the world had no chance. It always amused me how she thought of us as the ideal couple. I guess we were pretty good.

We did look damn good together, that's for sure.

The most amusing ones were when random people like Leni would ask me if we still talked.
"Do you still talk to Cris?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you still like her?"
"....."
"Yeah, you do. You definitely do. You love that girl. And you always will."
"..........."

It's not like I could really deny it. Lying to myself never worked too well. So the weekend came closer and closer, and I decided if there was a time to start it up again, it'd be then.

And then Robert started singing. It was an irresistable desire.