Journal entry #1

[eternal minnow]

Lust often masks itself in the guise of affection, and I had fallen deeply for that illusion.

It was August 20th, 8:42 p.m., and I was in a small hotel room, lights off, kissing a boy I barely knew, when my phone rang. It was one of my friends calling frantically. Our coach had just gotten out of her room, and I needed to get to them as soon as possible. I felt a surge of panic go through me. I had to avoid being caught in this boy’s room because it would have caused way too much trouble. I jumped off his bed, my heart pounding against my chest. Despite the panic I felt, he grabbed my cheeks and kissed me one last time. I barely had time to process it as I ran up the stairs from his room. Then it hit me. That was my first kiss.

Finally, as I got to the lounge, breathless, I pulled out my phone to see my reflection. I mean, I just had my first kiss! My cheeks were a rosy shade of red, and I chuckled. Overwhelmed by the rush of emotions, I was quite literally on cloud nine; everything felt perfect. Then my phone lit up again. It was my dad. The euphoria I had just seconds ago just disappeared, replaced by a wave of anxiety and fear. My mind started to fill up with unwanted thoughts: Had he seen me get out of that boy’s room? Did he know what I had just done? Was he mad? Even with these thoughts racing through my mind, I answered the call. To my relief, he was calm. He was just here to pick me up. I felt overwhelming comfort as I grabbed my things and said goodbye to my friends. The ride back was a big blur of emotions. I can still recall the dimly lit street and shimmering stars above us, as I felt simply overjoyed. As we arrived, I was wide awake, eagerly anticipating tomorrow. CONTINUATION

August 21st, 12:17 p.m. The sun’s light gleamed through the glass balcony door as I sat impatiently in my friend’s room, waiting for him. The moment I heard his voice whisper through the door, I rushed to let him in. With no hesitation, our lips met once again, but something felt different. His hands, his lips, and his touch felt different. I could tell his intentions had changed since last night; his touch was more insistent, lacking the tenderness it had had before. My instincts screamed at me once he pulled down my bra, but I told myself this was normal and to keep going. The thrill of the moment clouded my judgment; I pushed aside any uneasy thoughts trying to creep in. I could feel the atmosphere getting heavier with each second that passed. Quickly, the innocence of our first kiss dissolved, replaced by something far less pure. With every kiss, I felt the weight of reality pressing down on me more and more. A realization began to settle in. He had never felt love. It had always been lust. As I pulled away, the exhilaration from the night before morphed into a sense of loss and confusion. I looked into his eyes, searching for that once familiar warmth I had just felt the night before, but all I found was a fleeting spark that quickly extinguished. As we said our goodbyes, he asked me for one last kiss, just like the night before. I hesitated, then refused. Once again, I reached for my phone and looked at myself, but the girl looking back at me wasn’t the same anymore. My face was no longer a rosy shade of red; rather, it was pale. The rush of happiness I had felt a day ago had vanished, leaving only a dark void in its place. Without saying another word, I called my dad to come and pick me up. The ride back this time was silent. The dimly lit street no longer felt magical. It felt eerie. That night, as I lay in bed, I was unable to sleep yet again. But this time it wasn’t the excitement keeping me awake; it was something else, something much heavier. Numbness.

Weeks passed, and on October 9th, at 4:15 p.m., I saw him once again. I still remembered those dimples, that cute little nose, and especially the way he looked at me. The way he saw me and talked me through everything will forever stay in my mind. I didn't love him; I barely knew him, yet I couldn't forget him. As we walked past each other, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. We started to talk again, but this time I didn’t expect anything but lust from him. After all, that was all I had ever known of him. But his eyes looked different; they no longer looked empty. This time, they felt the same as they did on the first night. That familiar and warm gaze finally found its way back to me. He hugged me, this time tighter than ever before, as if he were holding onto something delicate and fragile. For a moment, I let myself give in to it, feeling the warmth of his arms around me once again and the way his heartbeat was synced with mine. But I knew better this time, or at least that is what I thought.

The next morning, October 10, 10:28 a.m., I found myself seeking something fleeting, something physical. I missed the rush, the thrill, and the warmth of his hands on my body. I craved it. So, without hesitation, I asked him, "Where can we make out around here?" The moment those disgusting words left my mouth, he stared back at me not with lust, not with desire, but with something I didn’t expect. Shame. This made me realize how much both of us had changed. Before, it was him pulling me into that burning fire, leading me into something I was not ready for. I had spent so long believing he only ever wanted me for my body, but was I truly wrong for thinking that? Why would he not want to do anything this time? Despite that moment, we kept talking. All these conversations made me realize how much I missed what we had, even though it wasn’t anything serious. After that meeting, we separated once again. Now we had to connect through texts, and I don’t like texting, and he doesn’t either. The conversations became dry, uninteresting, and almost like a chore; due to this, we stopped talking, but there was always a lingering connection there.