Young Writers Society

Do you see me?

Sometimes I wonder if you really do, the way you walk through life absorbed in the thoughts and (imaginary?) catastrophes of your own life.

It seems a long time since we used to walk down the street holding hands and talking together like there was no one else in the world.

Not that I didn’t wonder if you saw me then.

You never had a shortage of beautiful girls throwing themselves at you. How could I blame them? You were everything a girl could want or dream of. More even. You were caring and loving, and handsome enough for people to say you looked like a mix of Johnny Depp, Orlando Bloom and Stuart Townsend.

You laughed at them for that. I knew they were right. You were something else and you were the only one that couldn’t see it.

I wondered all the time what I was that I had earned your love.

I was only semi-intelligent in my own eyes and only slightly talented. You always seemed to contradict me on that, but I’d only believe you for a second. Then I’d go back to wondering what you loved so much in me.

I was beautiful. I could tell you that, though somehow I’d taught myself not to truly believe it. Boys had been telling me that I was gorgeous since the day I turned thirteen and they became under the opinion that I was girlfriend material. But I wasn’t any prettier than those blonde-haired blue-eyed goddesses that begged for your attention.

Or was I? You were always willing to take the time to sooth my fears and calm my insecurities.

You were willing. Were. Not anymore.

Today, you hardly seem to have time for anything but the attempts to worm your way out of your own problems. You talk to me, but only in moments of utter happiness or pure pain, only when you “need to talk or you’ll explode”.

Do you notice if I smile or laugh if it’s not in reaction to what you’re saying? Do you see the tears that I’ve cried if they weren’t shed over your agony? Do you see anything or anyone that remains beyond this screen of false statements that you’ve surrounded yourself with?

You say you’re alone. That’s a lie. Or if it’s not, it’s your own fault.

You say you wished there was someone that would miss you if you disappeared, but it’s your own fault that I’m not around any more. You’re the one that picked up the phone and dialed my number just to tell me that it was time for it to be over. It’s you that pushed me back. It’s you that was hurt that day.

You walk around now, as if you can’t believe that anything exists any more except this life of torture that has fallen (was pulled?) down on you.

I can’t help wanting to take some of this burden from your shoulders. It doesn’t seem right you, who used to stand so tall, should be bent almost double under this (self-inflicted?) weight. I can’t help thinking that maybe I could have saved you from some of this if only you’d let me stay.

I can’t help thinking that you’re the one you wounded with that phone call.

I won’t lie to you, boy. You hurt me that day too. Every memory of the two of us fell back on me, an avalanche of misery that left me stumbling through the next few weeks.

Being in my room where I had to look on all the things that prompted recollections of us hurt like nothing else. The necklace that you gave me on Valentine’s Day almost stung when I touched it. The gemstones you’d handed to me “to give me luck” were like lead in my fingers. The hand-carved frog you’d brought back to me after a long summer away seemed to laugh at me.

Or maybe it was crying because it knew I would never be able to look at it the same way again.

I can’t even pretend that all of it just rolled of my shoulders. I got hurt. There were a few weeks when I felt like I’d died. My resurrection still isn’t complete and I won’t deny that there are days when all I want is to feel you hold me one more time.

But that isn’t what hurts me most. What really tears my (already?) broken heart apart is to know that even though I’m half-dead, I’m still more alive than you.

Author's Note: I wasn't exactly sure where to put this, but I figured this was as good a place as any... This is mostly just a freewrite to get some things out of my head, but I'm almost happy with it, and would be more than glad to recieve critiques. So please comment.

I think this belongs in Romantic Fiction.

I wondered all the time what I was that I had earned your love

This is an awkward sentence, doesn't really make sense. Maybe something like: I wondered constantly why it was that I'd earned your love

Do you notice if I smile or laugh if it’s not in reaction to what you’re saying? Do you see the tears that I’ve cried if they weren’t shed over your agony? Do you see anything or anyone that remains beyond this screen of false statements that you’ve surrounded yourself with?

Again, this is awkward. Maybe: Would you notice if my smile or laugh is not in reaction to what you're saying? Would you see the tears that weren't shed over your agony? Do you see anything or anyone that remains behind the screen of false statements you've surrounded yourself with.
You're saying that he's selfish/ self absorbed here aren't you? That isnt clear the way you have it set out.

rolled of my shoulders

rolled off my shoulders.

That's all I can say, other than that seemed really personal. Was this inspired by, or influenced by a real life experience?

You're right. This does belong in Romantic Fiction and I've moved it there... I think I meant to post it there in the first place (that's what I get for posting things at one in the morning).

Thanks for your comments.

Jigsaw wrote:You're saying that he's selfish/ self absorbed here aren't you? That isnt clear the way you have it set out.

Actually... that wasn't what I was trying to say, so I'm glad that didn't come across. I was trying to say that he's sunk deeper and deeper into his own problems, to the point that he can't see much beyond it, or at least he doesn't seem to be able to.

How can I make that clearer?

I like the ending, but the piece as a whole just rubs me the wrong way for some reason.

I think it's because I have a good friend who, when she gets into a relationship, gives it everything she has, and when it ends she's full of pretty words and completely broken-hearted. She has some issues, so most of the time I just try to filter it and take it all in context, but some parts of this just reminded me of her, and not really in a good way.

Maybe I just can't relate to this because I've never been in love and don't know about broken hearts when it comes to guys, but shouldn't you communicate this to your non-in-love readers too?

I wondered all the time what I was that I had earned your love.

I was only semi-intelligent in my own eyes and only slightly talented. You always seemed to contradict me on that, but I’d only believe you for a second. Then I’d go back to wondering what you loved so much in me.

This rings true, but I guess I'm just not feeling enough emotion behind it.

I was beautiful. I could tell you that, though somehow I’d taught myself not to truly believe it. Boys had been telling me that I was gorgeous since the day I turned thirteen and they became under the opinion that I was girlfriend material. But I wasn’t any prettier than those blonde-haired blue-eyed goddesses that begged for your attention.

I did like this section. I think it was the "goddesses" that did it for me.

I'm still having trouble putting my finger on why this just isn't doing it for me. Maybe it's because I love your writing so much that I always expect to be blown away. Maybe it's because there's no dialogue, and yours is always so enjoyable to read. It's well-written, but it's just not doing it for me.

But I still love you anyway, Duskykins the Lovely!

*laughs* that's okay, Ari darling... I wrote this mostly for myself anyway, and I've decided that that's probably all it's ever going to be...

I wanted to say that last line to the particular person that I had in mind when I wrote this, but I know it wouldn't do any good, so I wrote it down for myself instead (simply to amuse myself with my own wit *grins*).

I'm not sure it's amusing... but it was poignant.

I agree that this isn't amazing as more than a personal piece of writing... simply because I don't think it makes complete sense for someone who doesn't know where it's coming from. This is probably because you aren't telling a story, you are talking/reminiscing/contemplating about a story.

I do however like the way you kept putting things in parentheses with question marks.
*huggles*

Dusky, you write so beautifully! I love your way of writing...so complex, but easy to follow. The only problem I had was that it did have some sort of unsatisfaction. Don't get me wrong, it was a great piece and I know since you wrote it for yourself it was mostly your thoughts, I just think it could have ended on a better note. Or could have been expressed differently with the actions, some phrases were a bit akward. Something of that nature. I did like the smoothness of most of your lines, they were very corky. It seems like you thought it out a bit before you wrote it. You're a great writer, you just have to sometimes get out of your writing world to understand fully what it is you're writing. Take a step back, admire your work a bit. Don't take my word for that though, I can get caught up in what I write as well. Great work like always, I really was blown away. I think I might have contradicted myself a bit when I was writing this critique, so take what you want from it and use it to your advantage. Best of luck on future work.

-Mattie*

You rock Dusky. I loved it...but then again I love everything you write.

I agree that it wasnt quite as smooth as it could have been, but the link between the title and the ending was well done and I loved the ending itself, and the way the reader was sort of propelled from image to image, picking up the story as they went. Kudos