Frozen Roses

      A collection of miniature pieces, influenced by various experiences. The points of view are broken up into three different characters: all one girl, but all three are separate segments of her identity, personified.

[cosmeaulait]

How vivd a scene, yet not brightly colored. In hues and shades of cool colors, the quiet city crept right up to the edge of the lake, watching. I was in a boat with you--a long, narrow boat. I sat as far away from you as I could possibly manage, but the distance still wasn’t enough. One look from you was enough to keep me blushing for moments on end, and my eyes needed an escape; anywhere to look, anywhere but you. I still felt your gaze on me, but I busied myself elsewhere: the forest on either sides of this lake, the fact that the entire scene was well enough lit, yet not sunny, but neither cloudy nor foggy. Tones of blues, greens, and purples filled my vision. I didn’t know what was behind me, where we were slowly rocking away from. I didn’t look back to check.

And then rather than dock our boat right in front of those looming buildings, you paddled us quietly to a corner, a house in particular. A mansion, rather. The side opened straight up into a room, as if it was a porch, but was built as spectacularly as the rest of the building. You helped me out of the boat with your extended, steady hand... And then we led each other into the grand house, tripping over our own feet and rushing through doors, giddy and excited for nothing in particular.

[cosmeaulait]

Thud. The subtle noise of his back hitting the wall. He hadn’t even realized that she had backed him up that far, but he supposed retreat was instinct to anyone who had a dagger pressed against their neck. 

Regardless of his body language, he schooled his face into a mask of calm. She was so close anyway, her body merely inches from his, the flat side of the dagger pressed to his neck. If he so much as breathed wrong, he was sure the blade would go into his throat; he didn’t trust her to have a steady hand. 

He let the cool against his neck flow through his body, calming his mentality. In her expression alone, he knew she was wildfire--unexpected, and certainly something to behold. Someone had to corral the flames. He took a moment to compose himself; though it would be entertaining, he had to ensure he soothed the fire, rather than antagonize it. Never breaking eye contact, he finally spoke: 

“You know you’re holding the blade wrong; that’s not how I taught you. The way you’re gripping it now, you’ll end up just as bloody as me.” 

Her posture stiffened slightly, and she took her time--perhaps out of embarrassment--sliding her hands into a better position along the handle. He could have laughed; it’s not like the sheepish compliance could be hidden from him, not in such close quarters. Emotion would have been too much of a risk though, as he didn’t want to taunt her further, and he was sure that his neck was already paying the price with a small nick from her shift in movements. If he hadn’t had already guessed that blood would spill (whether intentional or not) by her ever-jittery nature, her sudden intake of breath was a dead giveaway. Still, she didn’t speak. How long were they going to stand there? She didn’t actually think he had him cornered, did she? He gradually moved his arms up, lightly resting his hands over hers.

“If you know you’re going to be sorry, don’t do anything you have to be sorry for.” 

She glared at him. If looks could kill...

“Is that a threat?”

Venom, pure venom coating every word she spat at him.

He relaxed, leaning comfortably against the wall behind him. 

“Guilty,” he snorted.

[cosmeaulait]

Something about trying to get better, taking pills and having your mental issues settle down a bit, it almost makes things feel worse, more than anything. I could feel my entire being drop before, when I was upset; I could feel my depression physically weigh down on me. I don’t feel that anymore, and that’s what made me feel valid. So crying over small things, becoming endlessly frustrated, unable to reel my feelings in--it just feels like there’s a flaw in my character, rather than my system. I don’t have the telltale symptoms to justify my actions. 

Just unstoppable, unreasonable tears. Seeking comfort, and then--crack. A broken lamp. More tears, and irrational desire to not want to move again until the next morning. 

But when I wake up before the night ends, the incessant chirping, the warm glow of dawn make me feel like a state of recovery is something tangible, something that can eventually be reached. It almost feels as though it has started already. There is soft comfort in this room, so familiar. 

And the warmth of the sun starting to come up makes me feel so perfect alone, makes me feel as though I could never possibly need anyone other than me, but should I ever want someone--I wonder how the night went for the person I’ll one day want. I wonder if it was as traumatic as mine, or if it was just splendidly uneventful. I wonder if they’ll still want me too, all the same, even though they know these jaded evenings visit more often for me than most. But I know they will. 

And then I welcome recovery. 

[cosmeaulait]

The idea of marriage sounds so undesirable. Romantic relationships, in general, hold little to no appeal to me. My habits with them remain constant: rely on someone completely, let the fights outweigh the affection for longer than necessary, and dash out of the picture, just a year shy. I constantly get that trapped feeling, and I need to be relieved of my obligations in order to feel free again. After these realizations, I’ve only thought of relationships in black and white: you’re either a bird trapped in a cage, or you’re flying freely. 

Truthfully, I would love a relationship, but I don’t know how to design one that would suit me best. I can’t feel trapped, but I do like having a home to come back to. And then I realized the bird analogy, when I feel it, is not a relationship I want to be in. I don’t want to be stuck in a place that’s one or the other. 

I want to hold my breath and dive into the endless waves of cosmos. I want to kick my feet and flail my arms and have the stars bobble in response. I want to float among the Milky Way, I want the galaxies to be at my fingertips. I want to impatiently flick my feet and paddle my way through the radiant glow, and I want to turn over on my back and close my eyes and let the ethereal feeling consume me. I want to be able to go anywhere, everywhere I could possible imagine, and I want it to be available to me. I want to always feel wrapped up in the darkness, the constellations, and the feeling of infinity. I want to be part of something all-encompassing, and I want to have my freedom to be eternal, never ending, but part of something much bigger. 

What is a birdcage when you could call the universe your home? And why would you flit back to a home that feels like it’s weighing heavily down on you, when you could always have your home with you in all your grand adventures? That is not to say that I would want a relationship that enveloped my life--that had control over everything--but rather, a relationship that allowed me to still be me, to be and do and make the things that I’m composed of, and to continue to become the best person I can possible be, regardless of whether or not there’s another person in the picture. I want a relationship that is as wide and limitless as I am, as flexible and malleable, even as temperamental and fickle. 

I don’t want a relationship that ties me down to one home, but I want a relationship that will ensure that with every place I go and every situation I encounter, home will always be available for me. 

[cosmeaulait]

Is it so necessary for you to rip apart everything I've worked so hard for? Is it necessary for you to cut down what I've done, when you know nothing on the subject?

Having my intelligence questioned is one of my biggest things, if you will, but to have it done by people I hold so near and dear is just fucking twisting the knife.

And I'd like to talk to him about it, but I know he feels the same. I can imagine the conversation now:

This is really bothering me. “Like I said, don’t you think you’ve outgrown some of your friends?” Fuck you. What makes you worth keeping around above all others, you piece of shit? “I’m just saying.”

How interesting it is that the two of you are so immediately dismissive of all other friendships I have.

[cosmeaulait]

Though I have many mechanisms of defense, words are my strongest form of offense. I rely on them heavily. When you completely disregard my words and barrel on through anyway, I shut down. I feel violated, and I will slowly (yet surely) push you out of my life. 

[cosmeaulait]

When I said that these people haunted my dreams, I was being completely serious, not dreadfully romantic. When I said that nobody was coming back for me, I was being realistic, not dramatic. It’s been years. I’m scarred, but I’m moving on. I’m not waiting at the phone for someone to ring. 

So when I napped and I had dreams of people discussing their nostalgia of the nightlife city I once ruled, I was not surprised. And when I got a response in my dream, I didn’t think it would lead anywhere.

The message was rude, blunt. It cut me down. It clearly stated that this person used to be me, the only other me there was, the only good me. That I, as I executed myself, was try-hard, unnecessarily wordy, not up to par. I was not the good me. 

They didn’t know I was me, and I knew that I wasn’t me when they were me--obviously. We weren’t in the midnight city at the same time.

Regardless, the dreadfully romantic side of me clicked in, and I had to check, I had to...

...Because I realized that the only other me there was, was you. And I have been waiting for you, haunted by you, for years. I had no way of contacting you. I had no idea where to reach you.

So I checked. 

And you had reached out. 

And I wasn’t dreaming anymore. 

[cosmeaulait]

You tossed me a sentiment, though maybe you were just looking for a saving grace to get you through the boredom of the early morning hours. 

We talked for the entire night; this is the most we’ve ever spoken. 

Did you find me too dangerous, too much of a threat--a wildcard--when I was accessible? Or was it just convenience?

[cosmeaulait]

I have so many faces engraved in my memory. Faces that haunt me, faces that make memories come flooding back whenever I see them, faces that stalk my dreams and wake me up in the middle of the night, faces that aren’t even responsible for making me feel like this. 

You're lucky I check up on things, that I care enough to come back for you. Nobody came back for me, and nobody will.

[cosmeaulait]

I have a variety of switches, with two settings only. Most of them can be turned on with brute force (or desire). I can be quiet, I can be loud. I can be meek and mild, or I can be aggressive and abrasive. I turn switches on or off depending on my company, and depending on how I’m feeling. I will be whatever you’d like me to be, or I’ll be whoever I think suits you best. 

However, there are a few switches that I have no control over. And those are the ones that do the most damage. 

[cosmeaulait]

There’s something infinitely comforting in having a girl friend who has your back no matter what. She’s incredibly blunt, but her down-to-earth tendencies, though jarring, balance me out and bring me back down to earth. No matter our difference in opinions, I know I can count on her to be honest and incredible, and defining ourselves as a team has been so empowering. We go to the same events, we have the same ideas about happenings. My perceptions feel validated when she notices them too, and brings them up out of the blue. Working as a team means we never have to go alone, we never have to feel bad about any choice we ever make. Don’t go to a party? We don’t allow others to make us feel bad about skipping; they can only handle so much of us a duo in a week, and we have to pick and choose our appearances. Boys are a team-affair, and since we’re very similar in certain aspects, neither of us ever feel bad about our difference in tastes. Sometimes we have separate events with separate friends, and that’s okay. Day dreaming about your crush? He does this often, so don’t get worked up about it or think it means anything, but that sounds like it means he’s definitely into you! Things are so black and white now, and I’m so upset that I am only just now learning the true meaning of “ride or die”. 

[cosmeaulait]

I imagine kissing him to be a small fire trapped in a box: impossibly dark so that not even a glimpse of light could allow reflections of the flickers to gleam, but strangely warm, hot enough to alert you of its presence. But with seamless boxes, the fire will soon die down without air, as my excitement will die down after the initial moment. 

But you, I imagine kissing you to be swimming in an endless pool of galaxies. An eternal expanse of dark blue, with bright white twinkling lights to lead the way, to warm my skin--comfortably--as they flare. I imagine the inability to breathe, but not in a smothering way--no, rather as if I were to gasp, to hold my breath, only to breathe in air from impossibly glorious meadows. And as I go to breathe in more air, afraid that I will be met with an anaerobic demise rather than my prairie-supernova fantasyland, I realize that I don’t need to breathe at all, that breathing is obsolete. And your hand reaches out, your touch blazing, and I know you’ll guide me to safety, to comfort, and to all of the shooting stars I’ve ever wished on. 

[cosmeaulait]

You were too quick, and I was looking elsewhere; I couldn’t detect exactly what changed. Did your stance shift? Your eyes met mine, and I knew the words that spilled out of your mouth were meant for me, even if you weren’t meant to make it so obvious. What a delightful feeling. “I remember everything.”

[cosmeaulait]

I’d like if you didn’t breathe in everything he is as if he was the only air available. Sometimes stubbornly going down as you are is a more noble cause than giving in and letting the intoxication change you.