I Swear It (PART 2)

Then came winter; the sun still shone as bright as ever despite the declaration of winter's arrival in the tropica. That was the first time, in a long time, in which we did not text or talk at all. It is not until today that I realized this. 

I then so truly remember the day. Shortly after the break had ended and we returned- we were both sitting in the same room- but not together. I stood with another boy, a bit shorter in height. His hair swept on his forehead; his glasses framed his head so that he looked much like a chipmunk. I remember we used to laugh about that- I swear it. You stood with one as well; he, however, was a bit taller; his hair curled on his scalp; his smile was a bit like yours. That day, our eyes met- in your soul I saw desperation: I waited for the slightest show of recognition and familiarity; I know you were doing the same. When our eyes drew away, the desperation in yours was imminent- I saw it. I do not know what you saw in mine.

Weeks continued rolling by. I started seeing less of you. Nothing had changed; we spent the same time in the same room as before. Nothing had changed- I swear it. That day, when you sat with him, and I with him, our eyes met again- and this time, your soul was barred. You did not initiate a smile. Neither did I.

The next day, we walked past in the corridors. I dropped my pen. I reached out for it and subconsciously jumped to the side. You always used to kick the pen farther. The jump seemed to startle you; but I saw that familiarity I looked for the day before. The words hung on my tongue, then drew from it. My lips parted; I was to say what would slice another like a sword. They, however, hung in the air despite all my efforts to squeeze them out; I swear it. I tried. Later the same day, I entered the room and found no other seat empty apart from yours. I sat besides you; you then finally spoke. Your tone hadn't had the slightest change of remorse or enmity. When you joked about the chipmunk- I could tell you hesitated and quickly retreated viewing my expression. To my questions about the dimpled boy, you answered swiftly and defensively. It was then clear to me as it was to you; the flame HAD burnt out. What followed was silence and we both embraced it.