Mondays & Wednesdays at 9:35

It's Monday March 4th 2013, I see that you're growing out your hair, it looks nice. I did not get to glance at your face today but I got what I needed. My daily fix of you. The ones I take in glances and store them in my mind's memory bank. Nice and preserved until the next glance replaces the current one. I never know when that will be. I sometimes enjoy the element of surprise…not knowing when I'll get my next opportunity to steal glance. Other times I die in anticipation. It's been two days. It's 11:00am. "I normally see him at this time. Where could he be? Avoiding me?" Possibly. But I don't care anymore. Well I don't but I do. My mind goes frantic as I try to sort out my feelings for you into the box of either love or hate, like or dislike. And frankly I sort them out into both and occasionally into the box of "the hell would I know what that means." You drive me crazy and I hate you for that. I hate that you do not know that I think about you at least once a day without even trying. I hate that you probably don't reciprocate the same feelings for me, that I am not the cause of your sleepless nights. I hate that you don't deserve me. Though I am fully aware aware of this, I want you to deserve me. But you never will.

 Frankly I think that you're an idiot. You're a spoiled little rich boy whose soft accented voice blends in with white noise from the crowd. Yet why does it sound so distinct and sweet to me? I can't stand myself for allowing you to make me feel like I do. I can't ween myself off from my need to attain your validation. The fulfillment of my days, my weeks, are dependent on how you make me feel. When you make me feel like this beautiful creature that you've just discovered and want to further explore. My brain instantly drowns in dopamine. I get just enough to hold me until the next glance. Then you don't look at me at all. I feel so pathetic. Like a heroin addict who has come off the most euphoric high only to find that he is disgusted with his reality. The only difference being, the heroin addict's ability to reach his next high is entirely in his hands. You are not. You, the cause of the irregularity in my heartbeat each time I walk past you. You, the cause of my constant self-criticizing. I worship you as you look down on me from the pedestal I placed you on. The pedestal that I never think to drag you off of. The addiction that I can't contain.

Despite all of this, I am still drawn to you. What a tragedy. At this moment I don't know if it's my fault all of this continues to happen. Somehow I don't think it is. I feel as though I have no say in this runaround and neither do you. Somehow we keep getting drawn together until we have an interaction that will be a guaranteed success. An interaction that continues on, past the moment of meeting. An interaction that I can only hope for at this moment to form into some sort of friendship. You and I will hang out. We will clear up all the miscommunication between us. I will tell you my initial opinion of you (which may be wrong) and you will tell yours of me (which may be wrong as well). Then we will laugh. We will laugh at how stupid we both were. How stubborn and shy we were. We will laugh at how our insecurities prolonged what could be a budding friendship. We will laugh as our hearts ache at the sad thought of how much time we could've spent together . "For now I wish I could create a mental collage of each glance I have of you. But time is sneaky and will only allow me one glance for a short period. Until I forget what you look like. Until you're just a faceless thought. The heart-sore from my unrequited love for you."

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"Mondays & Wednesdays at 9:35" is an original piece by Enni Aigbomian. Enni is a cofounder of RhoneMag. RhoneMag is accepting original writing pieces (poems, stories, thought pieces). To have your work be featured. Email us at rhonemag@gmail.com.