The Floodwaters

I Am A Heart Watson, the Rest of Me is Mere Appendix - Forgive Durden
The Floodwaters

I still remember the day it flooded. Rain poured down constantly for the whole twenty-four hours plus. The rain was up to my knees, and so were my spirits.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his green eyes evading my blues.
We were walking down the hallways. He had stopped and grabbed my arm, pulling me aside as passerbys trafficked down the ever shrinking corridors.
I had been frustrated for about three days. It had been six months going steady, and he proceeded not to even remember. I shrugged whenever he touched me, and I tried to avoid looking him directly in the face, hoping he would get the hint.
I looked down at his shoes. They were beat up converses. They were a grayish tint from being washed frequently, and there were random sayings on the white rubber. "Nothing," I whispered.
"Do you not want to go out with me anymore?" he questioned.
Guilt built up inside of me. Tears welled up. I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell him how I really felt.
1. Musicians' first loves will always be music. You're just second best.
I was sick of having to go to his basement every Tuesday and Friday nights. It smelled like rotting socks and joints. His friends always hit on me. Every time it was the same thing, sitting on a raggedy chair missing a leg, listening to the same songs over and over, while other people around me not in the band would sit there smoking and talking about which indie bands had deeper lyrics and the meaning of existentialism.
A couple of times I even fell asleep. I would wake up each time on his full sized bed, under the microfiber comforter. I always loved it. His room smelled of his cologne, and made me want to inhale enough of it to feel lightheaded. I would stretch my arms over my head and exaggerate a yawn, rubbing my stomach. He would come slowly over to me from his desk, where he was constantly at song writing. I would pull the sheets over our heads, hiding in the sanctuary with my love. We would eventually fall asleep in each others' arms and wake up the next morning rushed. Then he would sit back at his desk and continue writing more lyrics while I tried to get smudged eyeliner off of my cheeks.
"I think we should¦stop seeing each other," I whispered, tears running down my face. I took my oversized sleeves up to them, and the harsh fabric made red marks down the water trails.
I couldn't see his face. His long bangs were in the way and he was hiding in his hood. He gave me a quick hug and quietly sighed, "Okay."
We both ran in opposite directions, unsure of what just happened. I packed his jacket, a bottle of his cologne that I had stolen, and the black teddy bear he had given me for my birthday in a box, as well as concert tickets, movie stubs, and many photographs. I taped it up and scrawled "Do not open!" on every side. I tried to run away from what I couldn't, my own guilt, and my first true love.
2. They hide their emotions from you only to write them down in songs that they would rather play for the rest of the world.
And he did.