jemima98

He looked at me as if there was something to say.
I looked at him as if there was nothing to say.
He said, "Well."
I shrugged my shoulders, because there was nothing to say.
"Why?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"What? You don't speak anymore? You loose your ability to speak or something?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"How can you not know? Open your mouth and tell me why."
"You tell me why."
"Tell you why what?"
"Tell me why you wouldn't tell me."
He shrugged his shoulders.
I shrugged my shoulders.
He looked at me as if there was something that I should say.
I looked at him as if there was nothing he could say.
That was the last time I saw him.
I think that everyone thinks that everyone owes them something. No one owes me anything. Not even Gabe.
If he were to owe me anything, it wouldn't be money. It wouldn't be love, pain, or hate, or sadness, or art supplies. Canvases, paint, paper, pencils, charcoal, paint sticks, pastels, glue. He would owe me time.
And I was supposed to tell him?
That makes me laugh and cry at the same time.