The truth about the “him” in my poems

Yeah, I guess I was pretty young and stupid when I fell for him, so I won't say what age I was. It was a while ago, and since I have fragmented memories of it, some blurs in and out. Sometimes I want to grasp hold of it, but sometimes I want to forget forever. 

I first really noticed him that day in January when he walked into school bald. Completely hairless. He was that kid with cancer. And he had a smile on his face. He'd been out of school for a while, and was starting to recover from his bout of cancer even though he still had a limp. 

He was assigned to sit next to me in social studies, and we very quickly started talking, even though we never were friends outside of that class. We'd draw things and rip on eachother and other students and teachers and never dream of paying attention in class. So, soon after, I started thinking of him outside of class. He was a constant obsession of mine: his dark hair that was growing back, his piercing gaze, his pale skin, his hospital bracelets, his happy attitude despite his condition. 

I let the crush grow and grow until I found myself staring at him shamelessly. I think it bothered him. It probably did. I was so, so, so, stupid. I even sent him a note saying I liked him. He ignored it, said nothing about it. Thank God. 

I still thought of him throughout the summer, and my love only grew stronger. 

But the next school year he stopped talking to me. He was only in history(social studies) with me and no other classes. And still, my stupid love grew, I couldn't stop it, it was unending. 

Unending. 

Unending. 

The last time I saw him was before winter break that year. Same happy face, same limp, not the least bit frail. I remember how our eyes met, and how I felt something pierce my heart. How I knew I could never be with him. 

Then, one Monday in March- (the fateful day, the worst day of my life) my friend said she had news for me, and it was horrible, and it was a rumor going around that was probably true, and people were crying and I didn't know why, until I knew and everything froze up and I couldn't feel anything.

The next day our whole grade went out in the courtyard, drew memories of him in chalk, and I was frozen solid. One of my friends called me heartless for not crying. 

But I just felt too much that it all turned off. 

For months. 

So, I write because I loved him. Because death is a bitch. And to remind people that love isn't always mutual, and it's still as strong-

-and as painful.

I wonder if there's a heaven. I wonder if I'm going there. I wonder if he'll greet me when I get there, or just walk away.