Cliche

author's note: i'm new to this website, but not posting fiction online. i would really like some feedback, if possible. thank you, and enjoy.


         The face in the picture frame stares at you. Closing your eyes, you turn over, half asleep. “This isn’t happening.” You say to yourself. This has been your mantra this past week; convincing yourself that the dull ache in your heart isn’t real, that you really can make it through the day without thinking of him. Groaning, you toss the pillow off of your bed. It’s hot and lumpy, and it smashes your hair into your cheek every time you move. You hate that damn pillow.
         “It’s not fair!” You say out loud, to anyone who will listen. You sigh and realize there is no one there to listen. You’re alone. You’re alone, and you have no one to blame but yourself.
         A week ago, you ruined your life. A week ago, you destroyed the only thing you had left to hang onto – his heart. Now, here you were, alone in your bedroom, crying to no one about the love of your life and how he got away. And it kills you, because it was no one’s fault but your own.
         You throw your left leg over the side of the bed and contemplate doing the same to your right. A full minute later, you’re out of bed and stumbling into the kitchen, grabbing the first edible thing you can find. It’s Swiss cheese. You eat it without thinking, without realizing that you’re eating Swiss cheese at four in the morning. Sighing, you throw the last of the cheese onto a shelf in the refrigerator and slam the door shut. You’re pathetic. You didn’t even wrap it up, just tossed it in.
         The morning drones on. And on, and on. After a few hours of an infomercial you didn’t really watch, you decide to get up.
You get in the shower but forget to take your socks off, and curse when you realize it a split second too late. He’s killing you. He’s constantly in your mind, he won’t go away. You remember him every time you try to forget.
         As you step out of the shower and wrap a towel around yourself, you realize that this has gone too far. It’s absolutely ridiculous to be thinking about him every second of every day. You need to move on. You wipe the steam from the mirror and look confidently at yourself. “I can do this. I am an independent woman.” You say out loud to yourself. You smile, already feeling better. After all, he is just a boy.
         Just a boy who happens to be your soul mate.
         And that’s it. That tiny, fleeting moment of confidence is deflated with one thought of his lips against yours. So much for that independence thing. You’ll never be over him, and this is quite possibly the most depressing thing you’ve ever heard.
         “Life sucks!”
         This has also left your lips more than once in the past week.
         Heartache.
         “Heartache sucks!”
         Once again, not the first time you’ve heard that one. You miss him, and it’s horrible. You try to convince yourself that it will wear off. Eventually, you will forget him. You’ll forget him and his stupid guitar and his stupid kisses and his stupid, stupid hat. The one he wears every single day. Why can’t he just get a different hat? What is so hard about getting a new hat?
         And it’s not his hat that bothers you. It’s not his guitar, it’s not his lips, or his kisses. It’s the fact that no matter what you do, no matter what anyone does, you will never be able to let go. You’re in love. Plain and simple. You’re in love and you always will be.
         Sorry. Game over. That’s it, the end.
         It’s one thirty now. Hours have passed since you last slept. Heading back to your bed, you sigh and realize that you’ll never be over him; it’s pointless. He’s your One True Love, your Prince Charming. He sweeps you off of your feet, he laughs at your cheesy jokes, dances with you, sings your lame ass favorite songs. He is your living cliché. And all that you have left of him is a piece of Swiss cheese at the bottom of your fridge and a pair of soaking wet socks in the bottom of the bathtub. And, oh yeah, that sinking feeling every time you hear his name. Your living, breathing cliché.