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Chapter Two: "The Horizon"

5/10/2016

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It wasn’t until when I turned twelve years of age that interest upon another woman was brought to my attention. She was the same age as me, a little bit taller, had hazel eyes, and long blond hair. The first time I saw her was in recess, she was from another class, and when I stared up onto the horizon, down below from the soccer field, I would see her hair shine in the sun.

It was why my friends would yell out "look at the horizon" every time they saw her go by. They knew I had fallen for her, and so they teased me.

Three years passed in that high school. A couple of times I talked to her, she would say something back, and sometimes she just stared.

She knew I liked her, and she knew that everyone else knew that. She didn’t seem to care or be bothered by the fact, if anything at all she must have been amused. One of the memories I choose to pair up with her is the first time I went to a party. I had help from my uncle to choose what to wear, and I remember him providing me his collection of colognes so I could choose one that I liked. Then he dropped me off at this party and all I remember after that was walking down the hall of the house with my friends and my eyes catching her entrance through the main door. She had a white dress and white gloves on; she looked magnificent and walked gracefully with her best friend at her side.

It felt like one of those slow-motion scenes from a movie, one where the main character--me--stood frozen in time while the woman walked at a slower speed.

I always held her dear; to me she was the one that got away, because she was the first I ever fell for-- the one I thought had stolen my heart.

But I was a fool, because I had stolen my own heart at that moment; I had taken it away and hid it inside a dark place. It would be downhill from here on out.

Some people find it hard to recognize the difference between love and lust; attraction and obsession. You see, I was young and naive...I couldn't tell the difference.

I only knew she was the one I wanted.

This then turned into a beginning; years from this moment I would find myself in the same spot...reaching for what was Untouchable.

​And failing.


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    Writer/Artist

    My name is Francisco, you can call me Zisco.

    Endings are hard, but in reality, nothing ever ends, does it?

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