As I walk down the beach, I pass the spot where my parents kissed and remember it fondly, if a little sadly. My relationship with my parents is good and strong, but we are very different people. I have not lived with them since I started my sophomore year of high school. I am now eighteen, and have been an adult in the correct sense of the word for longer than I should have been. I have felt older at heart than them for a very long time. Perhaps I am simply incapable of simple joy and acceptance. This is a character flaw I do not plan to work on.
The beach is empty at seven in the morning. I pass a few people, some walking alone, some walking in pairs or trios, and nod to them in acknowledgment. I see many of them on a daily basis, but never speak. The only moments we share, or will ever share, are these few seconds passing each other on a beach. I know nothing of them, their names, or their lives. In most cases, I do not want to. I do not live in a small world. I have friends, and a passable social life, but it takes a special person to catch my interest. Most people seem flat to me, like characters in a poorly written book. The friends I feel like making I keep close. Everyone else can leave me alone; I do not wish to exist to them. This being the case, I do not make friends easily, and am uncomfortable around strangers.
But there is a boy, around my age, with lively gold eyes and dark brown hair. He jogs past me almost everyday, and I have begun to look for him. I notice when he is not there. His form is beautiful to me, and though I try not too look too hard, I must admit that I rarely succeed. I have never spoken to him, and do not have to courage to do so. I chastise myself every day for this, because normally people do not scare me so. I either notice them or I do not. I would like for him to notice me, but I will settle for passing him every day this summer until I begin college in the fall.
I pass the point where I normally pass him. I do not see him anywhere. I walk for a ways longer, making a conscious effort not to slow down. Obviously, slowing down would mean I care, and I do not. Obviously. Slowing down would be immensely pathetic. I get to the lighthouse and turn around, heading back towards my condo. I do not see him this day. Frustration overwhelms me.
The beach is empty at seven in the morning. I pass a few people, some walking alone, some walking in pairs or trios, and nod to them in acknowledgment. I see many of them on a daily basis, but never speak. The only moments we share, or will ever share, are these few seconds passing each other on a beach. I know nothing of them, their names, or their lives. In most cases, I do not want to. I do not live in a small world. I have friends, and a passable social life, but it takes a special person to catch my interest. Most people seem flat to me, like characters in a poorly written book. The friends I feel like making I keep close. Everyone else can leave me alone; I do not wish to exist to them. This being the case, I do not make friends easily, and am uncomfortable around strangers.
But there is a boy, around my age, with lively gold eyes and dark brown hair. He jogs past me almost everyday, and I have begun to look for him. I notice when he is not there. His form is beautiful to me, and though I try not too look too hard, I must admit that I rarely succeed. I have never spoken to him, and do not have to courage to do so. I chastise myself every day for this, because normally people do not scare me so. I either notice them or I do not. I would like for him to notice me, but I will settle for passing him every day this summer until I begin college in the fall.
I pass the point where I normally pass him. I do not see him anywhere. I walk for a ways longer, making a conscious effort not to slow down. Obviously, slowing down would mean I care, and I do not. Obviously. Slowing down would be immensely pathetic. I get to the lighthouse and turn around, heading back towards my condo. I do not see him this day. Frustration overwhelms me.
