Many of my high school crushes were unrequited. I felt everything so deeply, and it cut me to the bone when my crushes weren’t interested in me. That never stopped me from putting myself out there and professing my feelings, often with awkward and over-enthusiastic gestures. Perhaps the objects of my affection were right ignore me, especially when I thought pretending to be a mime would make them want me. But in my mind, it was better to have tried and failed to make them see me than to drown in hormones and angst wondering if they knew I existed.
My teen-angst fueled many messy poems. The following poem was written at age fourteen. As you may be able to tell, I thought rhymes were pretty cool back then.
Chains Of My Heart I wish I'd been born free, but it couldn't be that easy. Instead I was born with your chains around my heart. Love has been cruel and merciless from above, And you torture me and tease me. I've had enough. I'm yours to play with and I don't like it at all. My heart strings are all tangled, how much further must I fall? I can bear the pain no longer, if I must I will surely die, Lock myself in a corner where I will curl up and lie. As much as you get your fun from hurting me, and you get your kicks from all the pain you see. I am like a bird and I need to be set free. Release me, please.
After high school, things began to change – with the social hierarchy of cool kids, jocks and dorks like me a thing of the past, there was plenty of reciprocation. Each unrequited crush from my teen years, however, has never been forgotten. It’s formed a large library of angst to call on when writing, and I have written several stories where the heroine’s feelings are finally returned and pain and heartbreak end with a happy ever after.
Though there was one story I dug up not so long ago that didn’t end well. Written in 2003, it’s a rather creepy and disturbing short story I submitted as a writing assessment.
I Love You
I sit here and stare at you all day, and you don’t know that I do. You tap away at your computer and answer the phone, existing in a world of your own. I’ve come to know your every mood; what every expression means. I know that when you’re frustrated you press your teeth into your bottom lip. I know that when you’re happy you smile in a way that heats me up. I know that you tap your pencil on the desk when you’re waiting to go home.
Lunch time is my favourite part of the day because I can watch you for up to forty-five minutes. You like to eat at Luigi’s. Now I eat there, too. Sometimes you smile and wave in my direction. I always pretend that smile and wave are for me. I watch you eat. I wish I could be the pasta wrapped around your fork so I could feel your sweet lips on me for just one moment.
I’m in love you. That’s the truth. I love everything that you say and everything that you do. I want to be with you, to love you, to have you as my own, to worship your every move. I need to be close to you – to hear your heartbeat and hear your blood coursing through your veins. I want to tongue the pulse in your neck. I want to kiss every inch of you and love you over and over again.
At night I follow you home to make sure you get there safely. I hate that you leave work so late. You don’t know who’s out there, my darling. The streets aren’t safe anymore. And yes, I’ve seen the photo of Her on your desk. I hate that you go home to her, that you want her, that you love her every night in a way you don’t love me. It’s killing me. I want to die; curl up in a corner and die. Would you notice?
I watch you make love to her every night, my nose pressed against the cold window. You should really ask me in out of the cold. I watch the way you stroke her skin and the way you tenderly touch her breasts. I watch the way you taste her, all the way to her core. I see the way you make her burn for you and how she wraps her legs tight around your body, your thrusts met by the rising of her hips. You make love to her when you could be making love to me, having me, holding me.
That’s going to change. Tonight. I’m not going to stand outside and watch you make love to her tonight. Tonight you’re going to be making love to me. She has to go, and I’m going to tell her so. You don’t belong to her. You belong to me, forever and always. Tonight I’m going to make you all mine and we will never ever be apart again. You’ll never be lonely, my darling. I promise.
I’m knocking at your door now. Can’t you hear me? Ah yes, here you come now. Hello, how are you? I’m well thank you. Who am I? I’m your soul mate. And I sit next to you at work. Now you remember me. No, I haven’t been stalking you. What am I doing here? I love you. We’re meant to be together. I don’t know you? You’re wrong. I know your every mood. I know what your every expression means. I’m scaring you? You want me to leave? No, I can’t do that. It’s my turn to love you now.
Damn it, here She comes. This just won’t do. I need you like the air that I breathe. I cannot go any longer pretending that I don’t. We are soul mates. I feel it. No, I won’t leave. I’ll stand right here. I’m not leaving until I get what I want and what I want is you. I am perfectly sane. She is telling me to leave now. I’m not welcome and neither are my advances? You’re choosing her over me? You can’t love her. You need to love me. WE are meant to be together, and we will be, my darling. No, I won’t put the gun away. We’ll never be apart again.
No boyfriends or love interests were hurt during the making of this short story, and while the author did stalk a couple of crushes during high school, there were no confrontations or threats made. This story is entirely fictional, and the author does not condone violence.