(H) Chapter One

Ever since our break, I've been thinking differently. Do you think the same way as me? Or am I the only person that's thinking about you. Have you had any thoughts about me?

      Do you question why we went on a break? Although I have a feeling the break isn't doing much for me like I thought it would. Should I end the break just for that reason alone?

      I still feel anxious thinking about you, my skin shudders and shakes as I think of what would happen if I talked to you again. Can that really be called 'getting over you' even if we weren't together?

      I still feel uncomfortable talking about you, the way my throat runs dry or slightly closes, like I'm not supposed to even talk about you;  let alone udder  your name.

     I still feel like I'm in love with you, you're constantly on my mind and I worry about how the break is going for you even though I know you're doing fine, unaffected. It's just me who wants to have the idea or hope you might miss me. Little false hopes you give me make me jump, yet those are false hopes I give myself.

    Although false hopes are all that surrounds our lives, my biggest hope was for you to love me back. It's been years, and I thought I could be the one for you.

  Oh. The let down you gave me. That made me fall into a pit. A pit of a hole that's so deep that when I feel that way, I look up to you, knowing you're not there to help me out since you're the reason why I'm there in the first place.

   You fill dirt into my hole while I'm still in it, slowly suffocating me, eventually killing me as I await my death, still looking up to you to help me, knowing you're the one who dug the hole and shoveling dirt back into it.

    Then, magically, when I talk to you again, the hole and the dirt goes back into looking like the normal ground that I stand on again in front of you, like nothing ever happened.

   And you didn't just try to kill me.

   As you do this cycle over and over again, and I know you are, I continue to look up as I wait for you to pour more and more dirt onto me. It gets into my hair, my eyes, my nose as I never break eye contact with you.

   My breaths become more shallow as the dirt fills the hole and I breathe in particles that could kill me but I stay focused on you. Never taking my eyes off of you as more dirt falls into my eyes.

  I wait for you to kill me again before I'm standing on solid ground, once more, in front of you. The hole is gone as I stand above my doom once more as I smile at you genuinely, with love, sincerity, and loyalty like a dog would.

   You continually try to kill me but I see that you had a speck of dirt on you and I cry, apologize, and I help you clean it. More concerned that you had the dirt on you than on me; who is covered in it and still trying to catch my breath from almost dying once again.

   You smile at me and thank me, not dare touching me or helping me clean off the dirt you dumped onto me. Your smile distracts me from the dirt in my eyes, hair and all over my clothes, making me feel like there was no dirt in the first place.

  I smile back at you, oblivious to the fact you didn't wipe  the dirt off of me. I smile genuinely, happy that you appreciated my help, as I stood in front of you,  waiting for my doom to inevitably come once again.

   But as you allow and give me permission to breathe, I take advantage that I can even look at you face to face and not look up at you. Yet, the way you look at me and the gaze you give me, tells me, we aren't equal and I'm still the dog I always am and I'll be nothing more than that to you.

     Your gaze makes me feel small, yet I continue to disregard it. 

    Then, when you finally decide to acknowledge the dirt on me, and offer to help clean it. I quickly stop you, since you would become dirty yourself. Unclean and dirty with my own dirt, and if I wouldn't have stopped you, you would remember how many times you've tried to kill me.

    Then you would cry, apologize, and try to clean the dirt you poured on me, when that is the job of the dog. 

      How dare a dog get its owner dirty. How dare a dog hurt its owner. Biting the hand that feeds it. While I bite the hand that I'm loyal to. 

      Soon, after biting the hand I've been loyal to for so long, barking when I shouldn't have, telling you something that shouldn't have left my mouth. You talked to me sweetly, saying it was ok, you're glad I barked when you didn't hear the words that were coming out of my mouth.

     The words I barked are words I thought I would never tell you. Your sweet words gave me sweet hope… when have I forgotten that 'false hopes are all that surrounds our lives' but those words never pertained to you, even though I knew lives were made up of false hope.

     I felt like I could believe the hope you gave me without a second thought.

    Just like a Dog would. 

     Soon, my feet became uneven as I collapsed into the hole once more. Having no clue which one of us dug it this time, the hole continued to get deeper and deeper until I couldn't see you anymore.

   I knew this was my doing this time, maybe. Since I barked when I shouldn't have, stepping out of my lane, out of my comfort zone… just to be knocked back down into the hole I NEVER WANTED TO BE IN again.

    As I looked up, waiting for you, all I could hear was talking.