• Heart of Stone

    I’m just a trophy, a medal around his neck. It’s not supposed to be like this, I know. We look like a normal couple, but we aren’t. We hold hands as we walk down the greyish-white halls of the school. I hold his hand lovingly. He holds my hand as if it were a briefcase on its way to the bank. I hear the other kids at the school saying things like how great we are together. That was what he wanted. Popularity. Not love. Not me. It was rare when he even said a word to me. I’m just an object. His object. When the eyes stopped watching, when there was no one left to judge him, he’d walk away, leaving me to collect dust. Sometimes, every so often, I’ll steal a kiss, before he had the chance to leave. I bring myself closer to him. I press my lips up against his. His lips are soft and deliciously red. So sensual. So cold. Never once does he reciprocate. Never once does he show affection. My eyes will close. His won’t. He just stands there. Frozen. A corpse. And when I’m done, he walks away without a word, leaving me once again, in the grayish-white halls. Waiting. Collecting dust. With only the soft, fading sounds of his retreating footsteps on the barren floor to comfort me. And I still love him.