A Small Rock

There's a person in my class. He's mean to me, yet he is bullied by others. You're not good enough and no one likes you echoes through my head, his voice pounding in my ears. Agreeing with my bad thoughts. Creating scars, mentally and physically, deep enough to hurt every night while i try to fall asleep. And now he's lonely. His friend group deserted him. And now i wonder: if he hadn't done it, would he still have friends? Would he still have his girlfriend? Because when prose poems aren't enough to win someone back, apologies, cries, is it even an apology anymore, or just a mere desperate cry? Now in gym class when i am playing volleyball and look over at him alone in the corner, him kicking the gym floor slightly with his beat-up Converse, i can't help but feel a ping of pity for the boy who cares for no one anymore.  

     First it was the light teasing. Then the food stealing. Then the impulsive racism. Then the bullying. Then the hospital. He is no longer worth my while. He changed his name and is now a black circle in my contacts, at the very end of my list. He is my last resort. --No, not a resort. The very last small stone that you wouldn't even think of looking under because there's not going to be a bug under there, not even a small one, not ever. So now when i look to the side and a ghost of his comments are there, i smack it in the face and run to my friends, hugging them unexpectedly, or i go to the bathroom, cry, stand up, brush away my tears, and continue on. 

     So, that is the story of a very small rock in the waterfall pool of my life. The story of the boy who i no longer care for. The story of the person who caused me so much hurt yet i miss with my ribcage, aching for more memories to make. Because before all of this, we were best friends. Now i cry when i think of him.