One person's trauma is another person's...laughter?
I was convinced that what I'd written was, at most, melodramatic and, at the minimum, emotionally charged. Hell, just writing it had put me in a bad mood. And by the time it came my turn to read out loud, I slumped a bit and hoped that maybe she'd pass over my story this week.
I read the first page. I look up.
And everyone is...grinning.
"This was really amusing and fun to read," one classmate says.
Amusing?
"It sounds like you're mad at him for doing exactly what you did!"
"He sounds like a nice fellow and he really seems to care about you."
"This could be a sitcom!"
They pale in comparison to how I've felt about her for my entire life.
Italicized lines are from someone else about someone else, but I see just how right they are. They all are.
Because, well, it hurt like hell but if I know now that I can forgive, that we are very much human and no matter if I cry or swear certain things to myself -
isn't this a test, after all? -
"Despite all that, I'm here," I told you my first night there -
that I will still feel the very same if not stronger -
I feel strongly that I can overlook that, because of how much she matters to me.
- then, well,
why not smile with them?
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