Broken Dreams and Hearts

Mondays’ are the worst. I don’t know anyone that would disagree and if they did, well they’re lying. There are some exceptions to Monday’s I guess, but that’s probably only to the lucky people. And no one would describe me as lucky, ever. I’m far from it in fact. I don’t think that there’s a day that has gone by with me not nearly getting run over, or walking into a lamppost, or something else tragic and embarrassing.

Mondays’ suck for various reasons, the main being that it is an inevitable day that comes after a relaxed weekend and it is full of hard work, that to be honest, I couldn’t care less about.

As I stroll to my local train station, far too early in the morning, I curse my mother for divorcing my father and forcing us to move to Mars. Yes, I could have enrolled to a new high school closer to my new house, but honestly that would have been more effort than trekking a 2 hour journey to school. I wasn’t a sociable person. I had a selective group of friends and wasn’t willing to move school and be made to talk to new people. My mother wasn’t able to convince me as easily as Karla.

Karla is my 17 year old sister. She’s the complete opposite of me; long blonde hair, tall and slim, clever, gets along with anyone, and basically some say she’s a definition of ‘perfection’. Not me though. Perfect doesn’t exist.

As I sit on the bench at the train station, I shove my earphones in and press shuffle on my iPod. The Fray blasts into my ears. Sighing, I glance up, my eyes met by piercing green ones, belonging to a gorgeous brunette boy. His lips curl into a slight smile, but my face remains emotionless. I could have returned the smile of this beautiful, mysterious boy like a normal person would. But of course, I’m not normal. I have to make things awkward. Yet I continue to stare. Why am I still watching this perfect boy? Wait, did I just call him perfect? No… nothing’s perfect. His smile turns to a frown as he drops his gaze to the ground. Probably wondering what kind of freak I am. He probably only smiled out of sympathy, of my ugliness.  I don’t know.

My train arrives and I am forced to disconnect my gaze from the unfamiliar boy. Stepping onto the train and sitting near the window, I take a final glance at the boy but I’m startled and strangely pleased to see that he is already watching me, a full on grin on his face, displaying his pearly white teeth. Yet, I don’t smile back. Am I incapable of a single smile?! Is this really how badly Mondays affect me?

Sighing, I close my eyes and let my music engulf me as I await the final stop which is my destination.

The rest of my day dragged. Five lessons felt like five centuries and my mind kept wondering to the mysterious boy. His face refused to allow me to concentrate during any lessons, even in my favourite lesson, art, I found myself doodling him. If possible, it made me even more unsociable than I was before.

Finally the day ended and I walked to the train station, James Morrison’s voice accompanying my journey. As usual, I was feeling tired and lonely and just wanted to go to bed. However, I was subconsciously searching for the boy from earlier. Something about him was just intriguing; I wanted to find out more. 

Stepping onto the train carriage, I took my usual seat near the window, released a loud, tired sigh and allowed myself to close my eyes…