She became aware of the world around her. The girl who always in her own mind was finally understanding what was going on in her life. As they kissed, she realized that maybe people do care, maybe things could actually get better.

But what if they don’t? she thought. They probably wont.

A few seconds in the real world wasn’t enough to realize the truth. She was back in her own world.

Then, suddenly, he broke apart the kiss, breathing hard and it was as if nothing had ever happened. He looked into her eyes, and noticed the beauty she possessed, the same beauty she never noticed out of all those times looking in the mirror.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured in her ear. “I love you.”

Terrified by those words, she broke apart from his grasp and ran.

He doesn’t mean it, she told herself as she cried. I am nothing. I will always be nothing.


Confusion swept through her body. She was home now, safe in her isolated room.

I’m a wreck, she thought. Her long hair stuck to her damp face from her tears. All those tears and she still didn‘t know what had caused them. Was she truly in love? If so, what had made her so upset?

She had never kissed anyone before. She had always been so terrified of love. She thought love was stupid. She used to think there wasn’t a point to it, but now she wasn’t so sure. How could she be sure? She wasn’t even sure if she was in love or not. Did she enjoy the kiss, and did she regret running?

Questions ran through her head, confusing, terrible questions., that made her think. People make love seem so simple. It wasn’t. You had to think, really think, about whether or not you wanted it or not.

“Or is it only me?” she argued. Do people really have to think about whether they wanted love or not?

Her whole life people told her that she’d know when she was in love. Does this mean she wasn’t in love with the boy?

The phone rang, so after wiping a glob of wet hair off her face, the girl glanced at the noisy phone. It was him. Anxiety swept through her body. The temptation to answer it lasted through the first few rings. In the end, she decided not to. A new set of tears filled her eyes.

She wasn’t sure if she didn’t answer because the phone had stopped ringing, or because she really didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t know how she felt or what to think. This is the problem with confusion. You never really knew anything for sure.

A new idea occurred to her. Was the love, or whatever emotion it was, that she felt those first few seconds of the kiss an illusion, or did she really feel that? Was any feeling real, or is everything we feel an illusion? Is life really just an illusion of happiness or misery? Was anything real? Is it delusion or is it illusion? She wasn’t sure.

Oh, how she wished she could see things in black and white instead of seeing gray all the time.

The phone rang again. Again, it was him. She took a slow, deep breath. The second ring past. Three more rings before it went straight to the answering machine. On the last ring, a sudden feeling of courage over came her. Unfortunately, it only lasted a second. Once she answered it, words couldn’t be formed. Should she do something to let him know she was there? If she should, what could she do? Could she do anything?

“Hello?” she choked.

“Babe, what’s wrong? What happened?” His voice was so serene. He didn’t sound angry. This confused her more. She fell into the illusion of life once again.

People care, she told herself. Don’t they?

She was starting the argument all over again, she realized.

She remained silent, she had nothing to say. Once again, tears formed in her already bloodshot eyes.

The confusion and questions running through her head created dizziness. She thought of hanging up the phone. No, she couldn’t do that. That would only make things worse. He hates her already. Didn’t he? His voice said otherwise.

She wished so much that she could read his mind. She wanted so badly to know the truth, but she’d never know the truth, because she will never know how he truly feels. Even if he was being honest, or acting it out, or whatever he is doing (she wasn’t quite sure), she’d probably question it anyway. She’d try to find a way to make her believe it was a lie.

She missed being a child, believing everything anyone told you. She didn’t question things back then; she accepted them as true. She was able to believe it then, without the confusion.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, hanging up the phone.

She knew her life would never be the same after what had happened earlier that night. She had new ways of looking at things, and a new set of feelings she never felt before, terrified to feel them again.