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Sunday, May 31, 2009

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not: college romance

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not…
I’m tired. So I should back off. I don’t feel it’s going well. But everyone else seems to. So now what?
Plucking petals from flowers. He loves me, he loves me not. It always ends in not. Should I keep trying? The book. The card. Thursday maybe. Should I ask him out again? To read my play perhaps?
He loves me, he loves me not. How much rejection can I handle? Does he like my smile? My eyes? Does he think I’m beautiful? Smart? Interesting? Does he think about me when I’m not there? When I am there? What did that dance mean? The hands. The look. The touch. Was this the end of something at the breathe of birth, or the beginning?
He loves me, he loves me not. How long should I wait to ask? When will I know? I feel like crying from impatience, desire, and need. The need to know. To clarify. To make the intangible definitive.
He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?
“I’ll always be here when you need me,” he says. Really? Will you really? I need you now. Where are you? I need you. Hello, out there.
Are you shy? Uninterested? Unsure? Uncertain? Unavailable? Annoyed? Give me a sign. He loves me, he loves me not.

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