Hey you, yes, you. Yes the one sitting here and putting your eyes over this sentence and pondering whether or not this is a trick even though you keep reading anyway. Hi, I’m glad you could stop by. You probably don’t know me, and if you do, well, good! There’s a start. But now, this is for you, reader, whoever you may be.
Have you ever felt like you’re nothing? Have you ever felt like you want to just get away, or to cry? Have you ever self harmed, or have you ever wished you were dead? If you have, well, I could tell you it was wrong, but you already know that right? My point of writing here isn’t to preach, it’s to tell. So keep reading, okay? Now, all of you people who self harm, or have self harmed in the past, something’s hurting you, right? Something has made you or is making you do this to your beautiful self, and it needs to stop. Listen, you may or may not know me, but you are a beautiful, beautiful person who should never have to go through this. You should never feel the need to do that to yourself, because even if you feel like you’re not good enough, or if you’re told you’re not good enough, or that special someone leaves you, or abandons you, it’s not the end of the world. I promise. I know it hurts, and I know it seems like you’ll never heal, but you will. It takes longer for others, and shorter for others, and maybe it varies a bit in between depending on what’s hurt you, but that’s okay. It’s going to hurt. I’m not going to lie and say it won’t because I know from experience, yes, I’ve been through this too, that it hurts so much you feel like you can’t trust anyone ever again. And that’s okay. It’s okay to feel like that. Because that means you’re human and that means you have a heart.
But that’s not my point here. My point isn’t to tell you that you need to stop, because again,you already know that. My point is to help, in some way, shape, or form. You’re not alone. You’re never alone, because let me tell you something, there is always someone thinking of you. There is always someone who wants to be by your side, and who wants to help you in any way they can. There is someone suffering because you’re suffering; but you don’t have to know it. Sometimes, you don’t know that some people are crying over problems that are yours to handle. And chances are they’re trying to hold some of that weight off of you. I know sometimes it seems like you’re all alone, and no one cares, but that’s not true. There is always someone out there who cares, even if only a little bit, about your well being.
Now, let’s step back a bit. You’re probably thinking by this point that there are a MILLION people that have told you this, or you also may be thinking I’m just some stupid kid who has no idea what I’m typing, and maybe I don’t, because I’m writing this out of my experience, not yours. I don’t know what you’ve been through, I really don’t. But I just want you to know that someone cares, hell, even I care, and I don’t know you. Because I just know that you weren’t put here just to suffer. It’s not the way it is nor the way it should be.
Do me a favor; if you’re feeling worthless, or if you’ve ever felt worthless, put your hand over your heart. Hear that? Feel that? That’s your heartbeat. That means that you’re still alive. That means that there is something you haven’t done yet, that there is a purpose you still need to serve on this earth. That means you are needed, no, wanted on this earth for something only you can do. No one can replace you. If you back out, then there’s one thing that this planet will never see.
You are all strong, amazing, people who deserve better. I know this; all people have some sort of beauty or astonishing feature, they just have to find it. You’re blessed with something, find it. Go after it. Once you see it, don’t you ever give up trying on it.
And for all you people sending hate comments, hate mail, or just hurtful things in general; look at yourself. Maybe you’re suffering too, somehow, but listen, it’s not the way to go. Would you want someone doing that to you? No. I didn’t think so. So if you’re going to take the time to write that, why not tell them something more interesting? Something nicer and sweeter that will make you feel good. Who knows, maybe you’re found the cure to your suffering right there. People will thank you. People will know that; “Hey, this person helped me feel better.” People don’t always say it, but people acknowledge good things. A good deed never goes unseen.
All in all, my main point is simple. Be strong . Whatever you’re going through, or whatever you may go through, or whatever you’ve gone through in the past, it will pass. It will soon be over. The pain will subside soon, it will wash away if you tell yourself it will. Sure, it’ll leave a few scars, and that’s normal.
“You care too much about other people’s comfort,” I hissed quietly, clenching my fists so hard that the knuckles turned white. “You know it’s true, so don’t try and hide it.”
I felt a lump rising in my throat as I spoke, my voice quivering only just a bit. I needed to get this out. I needed to talk and speak and just say everything I wanted and needed to say. I continued pushing onwards, despite how much it hurt to say it.
“Look at yourself! You’re a mess! You’re so caught up in caring about other people that you forget to take care of yourself! You don’t get a lot of sleep because you worry so much, you forgo your own comforts to give to someone who won’t do the same! You give too much and get not enough back. You’ll spend hours taking care of someone else when in reality, you’re the one that needs that help.”
My hands were shaking but I kept talking, clenching my hands tighter, if possible, to keep the shaking down to where it wasn’t distracting.
“What’s the first thing you do in the morning? You check on everyone else. Did something happen, are they hurt? Is something wrong? You always check, you always let them push you into that position where you make it feel like you’re obligated to do something for them. It’s more self-inflicted, though. You do it to yourself. You care about them so much and you give them so much in hopes that they won’t leave you. Tough lucky, dearie, people leave and they don’t come back. It’s part of life and you better get used to it.”
I felt tears in my eyes, my tongue feeling hot and dry, and it was growing harder to form coherent words.
“You’ll stay up for hours writing something that someone won’t even read. Quit it! Focus on yourself, because you really need it! You put too much time and effort into people who won’t return that. You put too much time into comforting someone who won’t do the same. You deprive yourself of your own happiness because you take out too much to give to them! Stop it!”
I bit my lower lip, chewing on the skin, and then I let out a very soft, very weak sigh.
“Just…stop doing this to yourself. Stop tormenting yourself. Stop…wrecking yourself. You’re a good person, you can get through this. But you have to…stop worrying so much. Stop missing so much. Stop taking too much of your own happiness to give to people who take, and take, and take. Stop giving it to people who hear, but won’t listen. Fight for yourself.”
I swallowed, wiped my tears hastily, and walked out, closing the door of the bathroom, and away from the mirror I had been talking to.
At first, of course, he denied it. He denied it and denied it and denied it, and denied it until there was nothing left to deny. Matthew refused to admit that Arthur was slowly slipping away from him and there wasn't anything he could do about it.
No one really knew why, or what for that matter, was happening to him. It was a strange thing, to be honest. Some nights he seemed okay, just a bit tired and forgetful. He often got up and wandered around the house at late hours of the night, speaking gibberish that sounded like perhaps Latin, or maybe a mixture of Latin and French. Either way, words Matthew couldn't understand. He would stay this way for hours, and hours, just wandering aimlessly to anywhere and nowhere, until finally Matthew awoke and brought him back to bed.
Some nights Arthur was completely silent. He wouldn't utter a word, wouldn't move, scarcely blinked, scarcely breathed. The only indication he was alive was the slight, very slight move of his chest to where he inhaled the tiniest amount of oxygen to sustain his life as possible. He'd sit very still, very quiet, somewhere in the dark crevices of their room. Often in the corner by the window, where his emerald, emerald eyes would stare out at seemingly nothing. It pained Matthew to watch his eyes go very far away, very, very, very far away. It bothered him how in that far away place, he couldn't reach him and bring him home. On those nights, Matthew often just let him be.
There were also those nights where Arthur would be angry for no reason. He would scream, break things, throw everything to the ground, tear up work and papers, shredding them into nothing. Sometimes he resorted to physical harm by punching walls and yanking at his hair, hollering about how much his head hurt and how much he wanted it to stop. Sometimes he hit Matthew, unintentionally, when Matthew got too close in his angry outbursts. Sometimes there was blood. Matthew never minded. At least Arthur was still in there somewhere.
He never quite tried to figure out exactly what was wrong. Sometimes Arthur acted totally fine, his normal self. Sometimes he would just come over and sit with Matthew, telling him how much he loved him and how he would never leave him. Things that were normal, but abnormal all the same. It's as if Arthur didn't even remember these fits of his, or chose to ignore the problem entirely. Matthew didn't care. Sometimes it was nice to hear Arthur without the yelling and the slurred words he didn't understand.
Then there were the times that Arthur left the house.
Often times when Arthur left the house, it would be right after a screaming fit. He would just stop, sometimes in mid sentence, and just grab his coat and leave. Sometimes he forgot the coat. Sometimes he would just scream and scream on the way out, but never, once he turned his back, did he turn around and think twice. It's as if the voices that made his head hurt condemned him not to. He would walk right out the front door and Matthew would do nothing to stop him.
Three days later, Arthur would show up again, collapse on the couch, looking so tired and hurt that Matthew wanted to cry.
He did try to console him the first few times, but it never helped. Words didn't seem to reach him, so Matthew just did what anyone could do in his position. He held him and hummed softly, hoping to ease the pain, if only slightly. Arthur never complained. Matthew kept trying.
But there may have been one point where Matthew did stop trying, and it was a part of his routine. He didn't really seem to even know what he was doing anymore, what was happening, he just knew that he would have to do something, and even if he didn't know what that something was, he did it anyway.
He started every morning with, 'I love you', and every evening with the same, but Matthew never knew if he meant it.
Matthew didn’t speak for a moment, staring up at the twinkling sky of stars from the school roof. He tried counting them, but always lost count around one hundred as someone always bothered him, like now. For the longest time he’d been silent, but now, not so much.
“Then go home,” Matthew said firmly, not tearing his gaze from the sky. “And it is not, it’s relatively warm, actually.”
“Right, I forgot you were from the bloody artic,” Arthur snapped back, turning opposite ways and leaning on the chain link fence wrapped around the rooftop for safety reasons.
Matthew scowled. “I’m not from the artic, I’m from Canada. I’d appreciate it if you got it right. After all, saying that to me is like me saying to you that you’re from Wales.”
“Wales and England are two different places, thank you,” Arthur’s gaze narrowed, and he didn’t even have to be looking at him to realize this.
“So are Canada and the artic.”
Arthur scoffed, but didn’t say another word for the given time. The silence fell over them again, and Matthew stole a glance at his rather begrudged “friend” of sorts.
Arthur looked a lot different in the moonlight, he realized. His pale features were illuminated brightly, almost the color of snow. His emerald eyes were vibrant, shimmering like the stars overhead. Tangled, golden locks looked soft and particularly shiny, and his expression, surprisingly, seemed calm, and almost content despite their argument moments ago.
To be honest, Matthew had never actually gotten a good look at Arthur. They were always bickering, fighting, and even though he’d pick up on certain things like how his eyes seemed to miraculously darken when he was severely irritated, or how his long, slender fingers would clench into a fist, or how he always narrowed his gaze slightly, but yet he’d never looked at him for Arthur. Now that he had the chance to, he realized he was, well, rather dashing.
Matthew let out a dry laugh as the thought crossed his mind. He leaned his head onto the cold links of the fence, hearing it jingle a bit under the sudden movement. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the thought, but was unable to fully erase it from his mind.
Unknown to him at the moment, Arthur glanced him over as well. To Arthur, Matthew had always had this beautiful sort of glow, no matter what lighting. His fair skin looking white in the moonlight, his blond hair like faded sunshine. Arthur was an observer, always noticing small details for what they were, and what they were, were parts of Matthew. Arthur never looked at anyone without looking at them for them, unlike Matthew.
Arthur shivered again, shifting in his step a bit as he pulled his thin jacket tighter around him. He swore under his breath, knowing it was far too cold to be outside in this sort of weather, at least for him. He gazed at Matthew almost bitterly for being resistant to the cold, until Matthew turned suddenly and met his eyes.
For a moment, the gaze was held firmly, neither one choosing to look away. It was almost like a battle, a challenge, or maybe they were reading something in the other’s look. Either way, finally, Matthew sighed, and tugged off his own jacket, and draped it around the Brit’s shoulders.
Arthur stared at him, slightly shocked, but brought his hands up to grip it tightly.
“Don’t ruin it,” he said simply, turning his attention to the stars again. “I really like that jacket.”
Arthur felt himself at a loss for words, still gripping the jacket, and blatantly curious for his actions.
“I won’t…” he finally said coolly, and then added, nearly silent, “Thank you.”
Matthew hummed in response, turning now to lean on the fence. Slowly, Arthur shifted again and put the jacket on, wrapping it tightly around himself as he was hit with the faint but distinct smell of syrup, ice, and what may have been coffee.
His gaze wandered to him again, lingering as a small smile traced his lips, as the warmth enveloped him in his body, and for once, in his heart.
My hands brush near his as I walk by him, my lunch tray in my hand.
I stop in the middle of that crowded intersection, and I glance back at him. He doesn’t look at me, whether because he can’t see me, or he doesn’t want to, I don’t know. But I gaze at him for one long moment before I step back, where I’m parallel with him.
“Hey,” I say loudly, just so he can hear me over the roar of voices. I extend my tray to him. It’s a memory. Not because I want to be nice. This used to be a thing between us two years ago. Two years ago if he’d always take my fries, and like the kid I was, I’d let him. “Take one.”
I offer him a smile but he snatches a few up, not saying anything to me. Not that I can hear, anyway. There many have been a muffled thanks in there, but I couldn’t make it out. So my smile falls, and I walk to sit down at my table.
Sad thing is, I don’t feel much like eating anymore.
This is the way it’s been between us for a while. Two years ago, we’d been nearly inseparable, or at least, better than right now. We would hang out all the time. He would talk to me without me striving to get his attention, and I would bicker with him in that friendly way we always had. We were friends, we’d been great friends. He was smart, and so was I, I’d like to think. We were a good match. We worked well together, and just…it had been great. Then came the next school year, and sadly, it felt like everything we made slipped away. That’s what it felt like, there was no other way to explain it. That safe, stable bridge seemed to unexpectedly collapse, without any warning, and everyone on it just fell into the abyssal nothing that laid below.
That’s how it always seemed to be with me. Friends slipped away from me without any indication as to why.
But I wanted to know. God, I wanted to know.
He’s in my English class. He never spares me a glance. I always do for him, though, just to see. My curiosity will be my downfall, soon. I always glance at him to see if maybe, just maybe, he’s wondering what happened to us, too. I wonder why I’ve grown so fond of him. He’s a friend. That’s why. That’s why I clung so hard. I don’t know if I can bear to lose anymore.
But it irritates me, it always does, it always will. Is he embarrassed by our time as friends? Is that why he avoids me like a plague he can’t afford to catch? Is that why he won’t ever look at me?
I decide I need to ask. I want to know. I have to know. I’m scared of confrontation but I need to know why more than anything in the entire world.
His bus is right next to mine. I can catch him on the way. I’ll stop him. I promise myself I will. I feel like I need to scream, but I hold it in, just for now. I’m shaking and my heart is pounding, but I can see him.
I call out to him, and he stops, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I try and smile at him, but I can’t force it. It won’t come. I shift the weight from my left to my right, and I look up at him. He used to be shorter than me. Not anymore.
The other students move around us, glancing at us, snickering, making snide gestures I don’t understand. I ignore them, and so does he.
“Why are you avoiding me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
“I don’t,” he says in return, but I can’t read his voice. I don’t know if he thinks he’s telling the truth or not.
“Yes, you are,” I retaliate. “You won’t even look at me!”
He raises his eyes, but he doesn’t meet mine. I’m growing angry, now.
“Are you ashamed of me? Is that it? Is that why you’re avoiding me? Why you won’t talk to me when your “friends” are around? Is that why?” My voice drops, but it still holds venom, all of my insecurities about this dripping into my speech.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, and for a moment I believe he actually looks genuinely confused, but yet, he still won’t look at me directly.
I clench my fists. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t know. I feel like…you hate me. Like you don’t want to talk to me. I thought we were friends, I thought that’s what we were. I liked it that way, I liked being able to talk to you. But apparently, I can’t do that now! Because apparently you have your own friends. And apparently I’m a thing of the past.”
He doesn’t speak. I don’t know if that means I’m right and he doesn’t know how to cover it, or if I’m wrong and he’s just speechless at my accusations.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
He jams his hands in his pockets, and looks to the pavement, his shoes, as if it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. I snap. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take this.
So I open my mouth, and I just scream. I scream so loud, people begin to stop and look at me. I’ve startled a few teachers, but most of all, I’ve startled him beyond belief.
[ I realized as I proceeded through my life that the crosswalk on the street was a lot like the chalk lines I used to draw on the blacktop when I was a child in elementary school.
Only thing is, in my drawings, my best friend wasn't hit by a speeding car, and he didn't go flying, and there wasn't blood all around him, and most importantly, he wasn't dead with nothing I could do about it. ]
Matthew and Arthur have an interesting relationship.
They fight, a lot, a lot more then a couple should. But that’s the way they were, really, fighting, screaming, breaking, and then finally cuddling and late night apologizes. That was Matthew and that was Arthur.
They had dinner dates, though mostly Arthur had run late due to a meeting that ran overtime. Anniversaries Matthew would forget, or purposely ignore because of said dinner dates, peaceful walks in the park that would turn into arguments, the list could go on. I’m sorry’s and I’ll make it up to you’s were slew about constantly with them.
Some nights the fights were worse. They would bicker, and sometimes they were gotten so mad that they would throw things. Plates, forks, food, whatever happened to be in reach was thrown. It would always end with someone in the guest room, and a sleepless night for both.
Some days they seemed like a legitimate couple, with snuggles on the couch, a movie playing in front of them. Those were the times both of them felt best, happy to be with one another. Those were the nights that only the two of them mattered, not work or life, just Matthew and Arthur, Arthur and Matthew.
Then there are the nights that they are complete strangers. Arthur will come home from work, bitter, and silent, and Matthew will not do a thing to console him. Those were the nights when Matthew stayed up late until his distant boyfriend fell asleep, in which hours into the night he would slide in next to him, without uttering a word.
The two of them have all sorts of nights. There are the nights when Matthew might cry for something, and Arthur will not share a word, rather hold him close, as if never to let go. Those are the special moments that are never spoken of again, but rather kept in their hearts.
There are indeed nights when jealousy sparks, due to late night games with friends, or just general get-togethers, both for Arthur and Matthew. Those are the nights when one will wait forever and a day for the other to return (though Matthew usually fell asleep on the couch).
Then finally there are those nights like this one.
It was a jealousy night, the two arguing about whoever, whatever, but that didn’t matter. There was no throwing this night, only cracked voices and bitter anxiety. This was the night Matthew wouldn’t sleep in the same room with his beloved Arthur, and would stay in the guest room.
They had tossed and turned for a good while, unable to sleep, their insults fresh in their minds. Their hearts sunken and sad until finally Matthew couldn’t take it anymore.
He was sure Arthur was asleep by now, only he wasn’t, but he didn’t know. The Canadian stood there for a moment, before smiling and kneeling down next to Arthur’s sleeping face (unknown to him he was far from sleep, listening intently).
He kissed him gently on the forehead.
“I love you. I’m sorry,” he whispered, and slipped into bed next to him.
And Arthur would wait just a few seconds, just long enough for him to get comfortable in the bed, before rolling over, wrapping him in his arms.
“I’m sorry, too, and I love you most, my Teacup.”
Though many nights Arthur and Matthew did have, there was most of these nights.
These were the nights where they would hold each other, never letting go, remembering why, and just how much they loved each other.
The starry night made me smile, as I stood out on the balcony of our apartment in New York City.
It felt good out here, the air was chilly, and I zipped up my jacket just a little higher, hoping to shave a bit of the cold off, but only ended up in pressing the cold metal to my skin accidentally, and causing a shiver to run through me. I laughed lightly, and looked up, seeing how the stars seemed to twinkle and glitter, as if they were winking at me. I really loved the stars; they were so beautiful this time of year, the icy air always making them more visible in the night sky.
I wished I had my telescope out here, but I’d taken it inside not too long ago due to a lot of rain, and hadn’t had a chance to set it up again. But that was alright, really. At least I got to see this all right now. And boy, was it beautiful. Astronomy had always been a thing of mine, even if I never wanted to pursue it as a career major. I was just happy where I was and with my life.
I sighed happily, taking a deep inhale of the frozen air, and somehow, it was refreshing to me. I leaned on the railing of the balcony, and suddenly, I felt something being wrapped around my neck. Soft material, a scarf, that’s what it was. I recognized the fabric.“You’re going to catch your death out here, Alfred. Honestly, if you’re going to stand out here for this long, bundle up more.”
I threw my head back towards the stars and chuckled softly, shaking my head and adjusting the scarf the way I wanted it. I turned my head and looked over at the voice, knowing automatically whom it was. It was Arthur, the love of my life and my apartment mate. Here he was, always worrying about me, even if there was nothing to worry about. I smiled at him, shrugging my shoulders a bit.
“Sorry, Artie. It’s not that cold out here, really. I don’t mind it. Besides, if I bundled up too much, it’d take away from the experience,” I explained, pointing towards the stars.
Despite it being New York City, we could still see the stars clearly in the city’s brightness. Arthur looked up, too, and I saw a faint glimmer of a smile on his lips, before he pulled his own coat tighter around him.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I said, putting my arm around him and pulling him closer to me.
“It really is…” he agreed, resting his head against me as he looked to the stars once more. I wondered if he was making a wish, but decided not to ask. Instead, I just looked over his features, sort of entranced by how much more I was noticing in the pale light of the moon and the city’s lights.
Arthur sighed lightly, and closed his eyes. “It’s nice out here. Still, much too cold to be without proper garments for extend periods of time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed, shaking my head. “Always nagging, always nagging! Give me a break, would you?”
I watched the way his lips formed a thin line, a clearly unamused expression, as he scoffed lightly. “I’m just worrying about you, that’s all. Someone has to, since clearly you don’t worry about your own safety, you dolt.”
“I know, I’m just teasing, you know that,” I kissed him on the head, and I could feel him soften somehow, as I closed my own eyes for a few moments, my arm still firmly wrapped around him.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I had been right now, just here with Arthur, my Arthur, here on the balcony of our New York City apartment, the stars winking at us in the darkness of the night, and the mingling lights of the city flashing in the distance.
10:23 PM: Ontario, Canada.
"After that, Dad felt so bad for scaring us, he went out and bought us ice cream. It was actually pretty cool. Al was more spooked than I was, to be honest."
Matthew twirled the headset cord in between his fingers as he spoke into the microphone, the light from the computer screen leaving a shine on his glasses, the only illumination in the room. He yawned, and curled his legs into the chair, leaning back and closing his eyes as the laughter from the other end was heard.
"Sounds like that was a good day, then. You've got quite an interesting family, Matthew."
He hummed a bit in response. "Yeah, they're crazy, but they're great. Tell me more about your family, Arthur. What are they like?"
"Oh, they're nothing special, I assure you. Trust me, with four elder brothers, and then a younger, mayhem is always happening, but not the exciting kind. Just normal teenage and adult things, really."
"Surely there must be something you can tell me."
Behind every person, there is a story to be told, and no two stories are ever the same. Each person has different problems, different fears, and different obstacles to overcome in their lifetime, and sometimes, they can’t work it out.
I believe my own greatest obstacle, is being in love with someone who may never love me back.
I could tell you about him, and I will. Let’s create a picture in your mind. He’s tall, but not overly so, and slender, but not feminine, no, not by any means. Twenty-three years old in April, still in University. He has sandy, blond hair that looks as though he’s been through a windstorm, and the richest, emerald eyes I’ve ever seen. He has the most charming smile, and he’s a real smooth talker with his prim, fancy, English accent. He’s attractive in all his glory, his outside features completely mirroring the in.
I’ll tell you this; he really is proper English gent. He’s kind and considerate, and though he’s often a bit moody, he’ll put you (if you’re close to him), before himself anytime, any place. He’s knowledgeable: smart, if you will, with a vast hunger for books, and aspects of history. He’s absolutely adorable, at that, intrigued by the simplest of things, yet can see their value and depth by a single glance.
His name? Arthur Kirkland.
A perfect name for a perfect man. Have you pained your picture?
Ah, I have so loved this man from day one. You see, I’m a pretty casual fellow myself. I’m the younger of two boys, middle length, wavy hair, and a nice shade of honey blond. My brother usually tells me it looks pretty good in the sunlight, though I’ll never accept his judgment, since he often pulls my leg about such things. I’m twenty-one myself, the name’s Matthew if you wanted to know, also in University, and I work at the coffee shop not too far from campus. He comes by often, and that’s how we met.
It was raining that day; I remember that distinctly because he came rushing in, all soaked and sort of irritated looking, his face contorted into a slight scowl, eyebrows furrowed angrily. It had been a slow day, so of course, when the bell rang; I practically jumped to see who it was.
He came up to the counter and ordered something simple, just a cup of Earl Grey. Of course, no time to be staring, I hurried on and got his cup together, and I indicated for him to sit at a table, and I’d bring it to him. He paid for it and sat down, and moments later, I came by, setting his cup down.
He thanked me, and I remember how I’d gone back behind the counter, elbows on the freshly polished top, just sort of watching him. I felt sort of bad, and also like a bit of a creep, but nothing else was interesting. But when he turned to look at me, that was the first time I’d seen his beautiful eyes, and that charming smile. He’d waved me over, and asked me if I’d wanted to sit and chat.
Of course, I’d obliged whole heartedly, I was bored, and no way I was passing up an offer to sit with the, dare I said it then, cute boy who’d asked me of all people to sit with him.
And then, this is my favorite part, we talked. We talked about a lot of things. We even realized we went to the same university, just different classes. It was exciting! I was happy, for once, and let me tell you, I didn’t ever want that feeling to leave.
So by the time it was time for him to leave, it was closing time and the rain had stopped. I thought for sure it would be the end of our time together, as University left little time for leisure around campus, but I, thankfully, was wrong.
He came back to the coffee shop every so often, winning my heart over with that gorgeous accent, those captivating eyes, and again, his charming smile.
Sooner or later, I had to confront it; I was in love.
But I’d never tell him that, no, I couldn’t, obviously! That would be too strange for me. Feeling the love for someone was one thing, but actually telling that someone was a completely different matter. And I didn’t think I could face that.
So every time he came into the coffee shop, I’d smile, and he’d smile back, and if it were busy, he would wait until it wasn’t, and we’d talk the night away. If it wasn’t busy, I’d hand off my shift to someone else and we’d make use of what little time there was. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt like maybe, just maybe, he could love me too.
That is, until that conversation we had one night, one rainy night, like the first time we’d met.
It was a regular old conversation turned bad. It was my fault, I suppose, I asked one thing and I shouldn’t have. I treaded deep waters, and then I sank because I’d forgotten how to swim.
I asked him if he was in love.
And he told me, oh, he told me. And I wish he hadn’t. He told me that he would never love anyone because of who he was. I couldn’t understand, at first, but he elaborated kindly, of course. He told me he would never love anyone because he simply was not capable of being loved. He said that since nobody would love him first, he would never love anyone back, simple as that.
It made me wonder whom heart broke this beautiful man so much that he could never love again.
He must have seen my face pale slightly, the way my eyes seemed to drop, the way my mouth slowly turned into a small frown, barely visible, because he asked, oh, he asked if I was okay, and if there was a problem with me.
I could’ve said a lot of things, but instead, I said the one thing I could.
“No, of course not.”
But maybe he didn’t believe me, because he stood, and said it was time for him to leave. I wished him goodbye, and if I had analyzed our situation better, I’d have said he looked sadly back at my pitiful state as he walked out the doors that night, back into the freezing rain.
And maybe if I had chased after him, and told him, “Don’t go,”, we could’ve worked something out.
However I didn’t, and I’m stuck with an empty, that empty feeling everyone feels a lot, stuck at that obstacle I can’t work out, and with his charming smile forever eating away at my heart.
And the world comes falling down.
One by one, two by two, three by three, and four by four.
Nobody will ever know what I feel. This tragedy, this pain. Everyone comes rushing in and hurrying out, like a fire engulfing wood. Oh, I wish it to end, this sorrow, this remorse, this regret. One after another I struggle to make amends. All was good, and now it's late, far too late to make anymore mistakes. But yet, my mind still wanders, it lingers, it scars.
Once upon a time, happiness wasn't something I had to go far for. Now it's a journey, a race, a fight, yet it's often worth it to feel that smile.
And the world comes falling down.
A story replaced by one's tendency to forget.
One day, a little ladybug met a kind, kind caterpillar.
This particular ladybug was small, smaller than the rest of her kind, all yellow, and single spotted. Sometimes she felt like she wasn't good enough to hand with the other ladybugs because of it. So when she saw the caterpillar eating his leaves, she wanted to talk.
"Hello Mister Caterpillar!" she said, flying over to where he sat. "Fine day, isn't it?"
The caterpillar smiled. "Hello Miss Ladybug, a fine day indeed. Tell me, what winds bring you my way?"
"Oh, it's no wind Mister Caterpillar," she replied. "I just wanted to talk, that's all. I don't get to talk a lot these days, and it's rather lonely."
"I see," the caterpillar nodded. "That's a shame. Why does no one talk to you?"
"I don't know," the ladybug said, frowning. "I think it's because I'm an ugly yellow, with a single spot, while everyone else is all beautiful and red, with many spots."
The caterpillar shook his head. "Ah, Miss Ladybug, how silly you are being! Don't you know that you're the most beautiful ladybug I've ever seen? Why, it's not everyday you see a creature as yellow as the sun! My, you look so beautiful, that when I saw you coming, I thought you could be the sun herself, especially with your one spot!"
"Oh, but Mister Caterpillar…" the ladybug cried. "I don't feel beautiful at all! If I'm so beautiful, why am I not loved like my many sisters?"
"Well…" the caterpillar began. "That's the funny thing about life. Sometimes people overlook the most beautiful things for something they understand. For example, you're the first thing I've talked to in a while. Why? Because I'm just one little caterpillar. But soon, I'll become a butterfly, with many beautiful colors, and everyone will adore me. But as you've noticed, I'm still me. So even if you feel like you're not beautiful now, to someone, you are. Tell me Miss Ladybug, do you think I'm beautiful?"
"Certainly!" she replied. "The green on you is very dashing, and your words have greatly touched me!"
The caterpillar smiled. "So you see, you think I'm beautiful, even if no one else does. You're always beautiful to someone. You're very, very beautiful to me, Miss Ladybug."
The ladybug returned the smile. "Thank you, Mister Caterpillar. Someday, I know you'll be the most beautiful butterfly…both inside and out."
"I sure hope so," the caterpillar said. "And thank you for your words. After all, I think the most beautiful thing about us not what's on our outside, but rather, what is on our inside, and in our hearts."
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