when we cry

She'd decided she won't care. She wouldn't react. She wouldn't smile her usual smile. She'd be as collected as possible. Hold herself back. Not let go. Not allow herself to cringe at random pieces of conversation later. She wouldn't act like she was thirteen all over again. Or gloat over everything he said. She wouldn't laugh at all his jokes. She wouldn't crack any of her own. She wouldn't steer the conversation from its course to topics she wanted to touch. She'd allow him to breathe. Space out her sentences. Use a full-stop in her speech instead of disarrayed phrases, co-joined with semi-colons. She would shake her head at appropriate intervals. Use big words like 'substantial' and 'precisely' and 'obliquely'. She wouldn't be surprised when he looked away in the middle of a sentence. Not stare at him directly while speaking to him. She decided she'll talk at him, not to him. Assert a position of power without letting him know.

And she promised herself that she wouldn't look disappointed when he got up to leave.

As it happened, in the end, she did nothing at all. Did everything that was forbidden. Did everything she'd wanted not to do.

We'll never grow up. We're condemned to the live in the bubble of chemical romances. Look through the glass windows and make up your mind. And at the end of it all, 'wonderwall' will always play at the back of your heart, making you sick with sadness, till you choke on your own foolishness. And blackness will abound. Forever.

'the word is on the street,
that the fire in your heart is out'