Something about the way she walked, talked and laughed, made my stomach flutter. I’d watch her as she spoke with a group of her friends, and get completely get taken by her. She was beautiful, and arrogantly so. She knew she was beautiful and she owned it.
“Is that what you say to your other girls?” she’d say, rolling her eyes whenever I told her how I felt.
I’d laugh softly, my throat making a croaking sound, then come up with a sentence that would sweep her off her feet.
“So cheesy. Try something else,” she’d giggle, after one of my pick up lines.
I’d been pursuing her for almost four months, to no avail. Personally, I thought she loved the affection and attention I gave her.
One day, I saw her passing by my house. I ran out to see her. As I approached her, she stopped and turned, she felt my presence. She smiled, her eyes shining and searching.
“You live here,” she said.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know that,” I replied.
I took her hand, “Feel that? It beats only for you,” I said, as I put her hand on my chest.
For a minute, she kept her hand on my chest.
“Then what if I were to die? Would it stop beating?” she asked.
I smiled, “If you die, I die,” I replied.
She blushed, she looked like she was about to say something but decided against it.
“When are you going to let me love you?” I asked, as she took her hand off me.
“The day you prove your love to me,” she said.
“Minenhle. Give me a chance,” I begged.
She smiled and stood on her tippy toes to kiss my cheek. Slowly she walked away, leaving me with nothing but a peck on the cheek.
One day, I decided I’d stop following her around, I just stopped. I was tired of being shut out.
She came to me, worried. “Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded, refusing to fall in her trap. “Look at me,” she turned my face to hers.
I did, and all those feelings came rushing back.
“I love you,” I found myself saying.
She was quiet.
Slowly she took my lips in hers, assuring me of her love. It was everything I had anticipated and more.
“I love you too,” she said.
I smiled at her.
“But, we can’t be together,” she said and stood up and left.
I was confused. I went home, and locked myself up in my room.
The next day at school, it was announced that she was dead. I cried the most. Apparently she had cancer, and that’s the real reason why she never wanted to let me fall for her. That’s why she didn’t want me to love her. She knew she had no time left. She felt like she had nothing left to give me. But I blame her for making that decision for me. I blame her for not allowing me to be there. I blame her for choosing not to go through chemotherapy. I blame her for not allowing me to decide whether or not I wanted to be with a dying girl. I blame her for cutting her life short, and killing herself without fighting.
To me, she was more than a dying girl. Maybe people looked at her and saw “Cancer”, but I looked at her and saw my whole life.
As I’d promised, if she dies, I die. I overdosed on some prescription pills. Sadly, I was unsuccessful. I felt guilty because I didn’t keep my promise to her, I didn’t die with her.
I almost slipped into depression. Then one day I read somewhere that writing a letter to her and expressing what I felt would help. I wrote that letter, read it aloud and burnt it while telling her spirit that I’m letting go.
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