My Chemistry teacher is a little eccentric. She says that Chemistry is magic, and usually ends up going off on a random tangent in the middle of class, getting entirely off-topic. (Not that anyone minds, of course.) Anyway, she also says that most of the elements on the periodic table are unhappy, and Chemistry is all about making them happy. Is that all it takes? A little chemistry to make us happy?
So, out of all those unhappy elements, which one would be the unhappiest? I would probably say Hydrogen, because it’s all alone up there. Jordan and I are like two separate, lonely, unhappy elements, and all we need is a little chemistry to make everything better. We need a chemical reaction, to become one, happy, element that even the “noble gases” would be jealous of. :) Because Chemistry is all about happiness. It’s magic.
Wow, maybe I am actually learning something from my crazy Chemistry teacher…
But, am I actually an unhappy element? Am I happy person, or do I pretend to be happy? Or do I pretend to be sad? Or am I just stuck in some place in between. I’m not terrible, I’m not great. I’ll live. I’ll be okay. I’m not like Hydrogen, I’m not completely alone in the world, but sometimes it feels that way. But why? Is it because no one seems to really understand me?
Maybe it’s this continuous cycle of unrequited love. Though it happens over and over again, it’s different every time. When I was younger, it was the rude, immature, attitudes of the boys I fell for. Then, it turned into falling for people who didn’t know I existed.
Now, he’s my friend. We’re not close, but we talk every day. He makes me laugh. He plays my guitar on Wednesday mornings. We eat breakfast together.
When we first met, I had so much hope. My friends were excited. They were convinced that he felt the same way about me. And they almost had me believing them, Almost. As the weeks go by, my hope, my excitement, that faith in happiness that only a dreamer could have, slowly fades away.
I’m stuck in the friend zone with Ross. (If you don’t watch the TV show “Friends,” disregard that.)
Why would he be attracted to someone like me? I’m no one special. I’m not beautiful. I’m not interesting. Most likely not what he’s looking for.
When I’m in the shower, my washcloth turns black, stained by the makeup I had worn to look prettier for him. My mind constantly races with words, trying to figure out the right thing to say to him. Sometimes, I can’t fall asleep at night, dwelling on every mistake I’ve made, every opportunity I should’ve taken, but didn’t. I write cute, hopeful songs about him. I think about him all of the time. I doodle pictures of hearts in my Geometry notebook. I jot down lyrics from love songs. I look into his eyes and die inside. But I don’t die a painful death; I die in the best way possible, paralyzed, drowning in dreams.
So, every morning, I’ll wake up, go to school, sit down at my usual place in the cafeteria, eat my breakfast, and watch the door, waiting for him to appear.
Waiting for a miracle. Waiting for him to feel the same way. I can’t wait for the day when I’ll be able to hold him, to make him so happy, to know that he’s mine. Because I know (at least I’m hoping…) that that day exists.
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