Anaisa Castillo, Staff writer

I simply craved her attention, her admiration, her devotion. But never were these yearnings given. It not only angered me, but filled me with utter sorrow to see as she merely passed by without thought. Without the thought to simply look my way or spare a glance of minuscule interest. Was I not enough? Was I really not worthy of even a simple gesture that acknowledged my existence? She has to be joking…she must be. I’ve known her for far too long, and she’s known me. I refuse to believe she’d rather forget me, it’s not like she could even if she tried. I’ve been there for her, I always have been… It’s the same thing everyday now. I see her but she never sees me. She walks past brushing her hair, brushing her teeth, to sleep…to eat, to everything. I don’t understand what I did wrong. I did everything I was supposed to do, I tried my best for her, everyday I did. I’d make sure she’d complete her goals, or her work and make sure she was always okay. It’s funny to think about it now because I’m starting to think that was the issue. I was the issue. So caught up on if she was okay that I failed to ask myself the same. Masking the truth that I only ever really declared I was okay and never really digging beneath to see otherwise, truth being I wasn’t. I never was. Nor was I ever really there. Being so blind, I failed to see. You might laugh to only say “obviously, what else would blind mean?”. Blind to my own deterioration you idiot!…pardon my language but I think I’m no longer mad at her. But myself. Because she did look my way, in fact, she stared my way. Right back into my eyes. She just never saw me because… well, the figure that stared back was never her. And the whole time, she’d search to find me only to see what I’ve become, what we’ve become…lost…I just wished someone else would have asked us if we were okay instead of us having to ask each other. Instead of me having to ask myself. You might also be wondering as to why I refer to myself in third person. Well, it took me a while to figure that out but I came to the conclusion that I don’t have the right to talk about a body as if it were my own. It is not. Whatever soul or host that has taken over, it is definitely not me. I wish I could say otherwise, “That’s me”, to say that and mean it would mean more to me than the gesture of another taking me into notice. Even though I crave both so heavily I know I’ll only ever get one, and one if I’m lucky. I don’t know what I’ll do, I don’t know where to start, I don’t know how to help. Well, once again, once again I was filled with everything that fell into the spectrum of rage and sorrow. Once again, once again…do you understand me? Do not dramatize me and do not cackle at my condition. And well as I was saying, engulfed in rage was my current occupation. Yes, my job. My job to be in rage and sorrow because no one cared to fill the position. No one cared to fill that position when the water so happened to turn maroon. No one cared to fill that position when a hunk of corroded metal was discovered. And so this time, the hunk was never discovered but drained away along with her life, both down the drain.