Never Cover up What We Did With a Dress

Think of how different it would be if you never met the one person that changed everything.

I met that person, and I cannot imagine my life with out him.

He used to get beaten up as a kid.

All through school he was rejected, deemed as not good enough, as a loser because he would rather paint and make music than to play hours of football and spend minute after minute emptily dreaming for the main spot on the best teams.

I was at his side the whole time.
.
I had always believed he was worth it.

I had always loved him, even if it was from a distance.

We both denied the feelings between us; even though the vibes were so strong everyone else had blindly picked up on them but us.

To Marilyn and I it was almost wrong to picture us together. It was like picturing brother and sister, grandparent and grandchild. It was purely... Wrong. Maybe that was why he was happy to get rid of me, even though he swore to me after everything that had happened between us he would never forget me. Possibly what happened between us that once was too traumatic for him to replay in his mind.

Years later we had fallen out of contact. I had stopped picking up the phone to dial his number and he had kept forgetting to care about me anymore. He was too busy with his new life where he spent hours plastering make up over his beautiful face and selling records.

I used to just stare at the television whenever his face came on it. I would find myself in record stores for hours, staring helplessly at the covers of albums with Marilyn posing controversially on the front cover. I could never quite bring myself to buy an album or to listen to his voice again after all those years I had heard him speak to me.

No matter how hard I tried, not one day went by where Marilyn didn't flash through my head like savage lightning. Strong volts of love zapping away bits of my life day after day that went by with no contact between us part from seeing his face on some tacky piece of merchandise, or some too-far-away picture of him on an album cover or distorted television screen.

My name is Chesney Martin.

I'd like to think of myself as a strong person who is an independent 24 year old women, one who has studied and completed her college courses on business management and interior designing. The one with a dream of traveling to every country before the day they die and who has already started to do it, the one who wishes to own their own business and has started to save money to do so, someone who desires to paint more pictures than humanly possible and who has sold at least two. Someone who ends up with the man of her dreams, the one guy that she has already met and has taken him out of her still memory bank and pushed into her real life, the girl that didn't find that transition between memory and reality one of the hardest things she has ever had to face.

But, the truth is, I wish to do all those things. I just sit around wishing, hoping. I do nothing to make it come true. If I had him with me again, even at least as a best friend, maybe I could travel somewhere. Maybe I could get back into school and finish my degrees. Maybe I could sell a few of my paintings. But the sad, hard fact about my life at the present is that I can't function with out him.