Opening Lines

What’s the first line of the last song you listened to (on the radio, on your music player, or anywhere else)? Use it as the first sentence of your post.

(“Changing of the Seasons” — Two Door Cinema Club)

So it’s over? I didn’t realize.

There was a catchy beat playing in his room, but I could feel my heart fluttering in odd and uncomfortable rhythms. I didn’t actually know where he was; as I sat in one of the chairs I twiddled with a twisted corner of my shirt and fixed my stare on the wrinkled fabric, wanting nothing less than to not be in that chair at that moment. Was that a headache building up or was I just tightening my forehead too much again?

Twiddling. Forehead. These were only a few things that had always bothered him. 

An awkward cough reminded me that he was standing almost directly in front of me, looking down at me like some scolding parent. The whole scenario was beginning to remind me of those times I would dread bringing back that terrible test grade, back in elementary school. That, or the times I ate the fish sticks at the school cafeteria. The results were unpredictable, but always bad.

“Look at me.” Like I was staring into a bright light, when I lifted my head I had to squint and cringe. Maybe it’d make looking into his eyes less painful. All I could see were his eyes. They were squinting too, but that was what he always did when he made those hurt puppy dog eyes. Wrong; I was so wrong, it did not make anything less painful.

I hope that you know
What I am thinking
Before you go
With your heart sinking

I forced my face to relax as I stared up at him. I’m looking. I’m listening. Let’s just get this over with.

There was nothing to listen to, though. For the longest time, we just stared at each other. A line of emotions were sent to the both of us, neither of us doing a thing to stop it or to look away. I could feel words of anger, words of passion choked inside of me, corked inside by that sad, pitying stare. Stop pitying me.

Looking. Not talking. These were only a few things that had always bothered me.

The music got louder, and a sudden key change seemed to break our concentration. I looked away. I broke the rule. I changed the order of things.

Quiet. Stares. Shouting match. More quiet. Forgiveness. That was the order of things. Never had I looked away before the shouting match began. It was as if I had been hiking and lost the trail. What lay ahead, danger or a shortcut?

I decided to look at his feet. Stupid, stupid. I loved those feet. A big toe peeked out of the hole in his black sock. They never stank. He was tall and well-built, but there would just be moments when he was back to being five years old, curling his toes with excitement. Little stupid, stupid things like that. Loved. Past tense. Why did I say that in past tense? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Enough. I had had enough. 

And I’ve worn out all the reasons
To keep on knocking at your door

Without another word, I sent that chair reeling backward, and without another glance at his face, I found my way to the door and left. Relished every squeak the furniture made, every confused noise he made. 

You said come back and spend the night
Come back and spend the night
With me

Not today, love. Not ever again. The door slammed shut behind me.

Could be the changing of the seasons
But I don’t love you

So it’s over. I realize that now.

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