I was contemplating, it was cold, air freshener, it had broken, like subconscious glass. The floor was rough and I was bundled up.
My pockets full of junk, wet, wet steps and splashes on me. Everything was blue, purple, it was night, so dark that I could only hear the water running on the empty street and the streetlights reflecting on the nearby windows. Guilt came from all directions, tightening my chest, bringing me down, and that’s exactly the direction I went. It was cruel and sweet at the same time, my mouth tasted like salty tropical fruits, saturated, repetitive sweet, confused acid proposed. The fabric of my black glove got stuck in one of the thorns of the asphalt ground, made by a very thin thread, my chest heavy with emotions greater than me, like responsibilities on a free weekend, but worse than having insomnia before a workday. I was forced to know the truth since childhood, it ran through me from the inside out, disturbance. I can't let the outside things affect "my text," prejudice pain. Sleepless nights, wishing, looking at the semi-open window through tiny holes in the blinds, it was intense, more than an intimate issue. Only I would know that she didn’t like me back, I didn’t ask, I didn’t ask, but I saw her and knew she had seen me back, I’ll ask her if she feels the same with the words she had carried before for months: "What do you feel for me, no pressure." I am disappointed, I am deluded, I asked for a ticket out of her house (Sunday) and didn’t give up, I will ask this Wednesday for a sushi lunch, little because she is fragile, gives charm. The desire for attention is real, but what shocks me more is that a strong part of me wants to show this story to everyone, I can’t, it’s too intimate, but "it can take me places," I want to stay in my corner. I kept standing there on the ground, arms open tight, filters, I blamed myself on others and they reacted with a smile, cruel to accept that I won’t understand human logic, but there are things we have to accept quietly. I heard shouting from a balcony, colorful metal rods, rusty, brown-stained erosion, it dirtied her hands, but she wasn’t there for me, the rain also manifested itself on the roofs, closed, they didn’t pour on the poor entrance nor could they feel the fire of the fire inside, luckily. Mark the words with black ink, desire. Meanwhile, I was in my dark room, nothing was heard, but the song “eurolal,” calm that kept me stable and I thought it was generic, I, hopeful, bristled to recover the feeling I once had with the freshness of clean sheets, but yesterday I used my eyes to wait for a shooting star, I was lying belly down, under the blanket covering my bed, hands crossed, almost ready to cry, but I only wished to wish like today.I kept hearing shouts on the street in front of me, a familiar voice of the person on the balcony, muffled by the walls, yellow edges marked my retinas as I sighed, still with the broken gloves, filter, anxiety was forming, my sore ass was hurting in the same way, cold, I couldn’t stand still for another second.
A restless desire to move, but I wanted that to happen somewhere else, another time, in another way, writing looks to be forgotten and unreadable. I remember when I met her, she was distant, there was a metal corridor and a glass door separating the warm, suffocating air from the other side, from her side, it was blurred with "unknown" emotions, but they were comfortable, like her smile while painting her little drawing on the interactive board, trying to define what happened was unforgivable, but now it’s not, I’m clean. The interior was made up of loud sounds, strong feelings, and high chaos, divided and separated, I placed my roots (the music) in the right spot and waited for the best while in a corner, I saw emotions move as she danced to a familiar, impactful song, she gave me signs she liked and made it clear, I kept seeing that music differently forever, even if I don’t remember the name of that song. It was all orchestrated, and it seemed like a drunk person before, while she was in her zone, in her bubble, and I didn’t want to disturb, I was too nerdy and she was too… another level, no way, I couldn’t translate my feelings and words into something she would understand. I wanted to hug her with my eyes like I do without her noticing what I desire, desert. Here I go, I went forward, with my hair shyly falling, and I stood admiring her latest creation (after her dance). My heart EXPLODED, EVOLVED, FELL, BROKE everything at once when she connected with me, with her eyes and then with her mind, I just wanted to fall to the floor and cry, but she gave me her word:-”Hello, do you want to draw too?”I didn’t answer, as I was reconnecting with my body, but didn’t manage in time, she handed me a pen: I hate love, I hate romance, I HATE! (this is my brain when I don’t process fast enough), I HATE LOVE, ROMANCE SUFFERING, I HATE! But still, I drew something and... I felt more full than the objective without simulated public. I just want to hug her and hug her every day. But I had fallen, deeper than I could get up, I stumbled, but I was alone. I want to be in that bed again, as soon as possible, in the best way possible, but in this story, I’m far from home and ready to faint on the concrete and chalk floor, but I’m in pain, censorship. I’m uncomfortable admitting that I have a second home, one I’m going to, or I hope to stay for over 2 years, because in that house I feel welcomed, truly, I feel alone.
I can’t convince myself to go after her when she doesn’t do the same, those sleepless nights are starting to abuse me, lack of pity, unnecessary to singularly share my figure (instead) of plural-ly. Even if they don’t agree with the mystery of her not loving me back, I’ll stay with my arms crossed until that long-awaited shooting star of all nights appears again! I know myself, I’m not a person to abuse the “apostrophe,” I’m more a person… of ellipses, I can motivate myself to say my word, “hug with my eyes,” but I won’t be able to separate to grab.
Nostalgia is a concept I use for things that matter to me or for the health and well-being of others. My brain telling me stories is fun, but when I’m in public, it’s considered “schizophrenia,” but when I’m alone, it’s a drug. A drug that can help dreamy minds but destroy weak ones. It’s more than a memory, now I understand why I fell... Guilt attacking me from all sides, feelings tightening me for a sudden fall to the ground, I can’t get up, that familiar voice is getting louder, and I feel that beyond the concrete walls, that woman on the balcony is really committed to giving a message, transmitting information in hopes someone receives it, and here I am receiving it. At this level what she’s shouting is irrelevant, it’s too cold, even with thick clothes, everything down there is numb.— “I should get up… But I can’t”I murmured with lips almost stone.
— “Why did you fall in the first place?”The shadow said, though it seemed like an invented personality.
— “I wanted to, I could.”I answered brutally, not wanting to make a good impression because I didn’t know the figure and judging by the shape, it seemed like someone ill-intentioned.
— “Sometimes we need... we need this fresh air, this environment, falling on purpose seems appropriate to me”The voice answered monotonously, with no emotions, I couldn’t read anything.
— “Yah yah, blah blah, you think I’m sad?”I tried to answer with the same temperature as the last sentence.
— “Yes, I really thought you were having a bad time, you were looking so deeply up, I came here because I easily worry about things.”That voice was... trying to practice something in me, maybe sowing a feeling, but with time, the posture of the figure was more and more open.
— “Why worry about what you don’t need? You shouldn’t-”I replied, tired of worries, but was rudely interrupted.
— “I am like this, what I don’t need is out of my level, but knowing that someone has something I never had or will never have shouldn’t be upsetting”It was “a” voice, sounded like a teenager, it was a bit hoarse, that's why it was monotonous, it seemed genuinely concerned after this voice failure, it was sweet, comfortable, like one of those school friends you meet for 2 weeks and then they leave for another country.
— “What will you never have? What do I have that you don’t?”I replied worried, with a calmer and more open tone.
— “You have logic, this world makes no sense, you studied everything, you know what you’re doing, how to respond, how to act. I miss when everything made sense”
She responded with a very fragile and sensitive tone, she was lost, I didn’t feel anything for her, not even pity, it was very cold, it was too empty to fill with emotions, but I limited myself to respond.
-”How can I help you?”That proved my simplistic nature, a direct question, but moments after she sighed from my answer, she fell to the ground, her black summer dress and leggings now visible, stained with something, she had wet them with her fall, obviously she was fragile, vulnerable, I saw sadness even without being able to see anything of her facial expression. She knelt in front of me and started crying violently.
-”A.. Ahn.. Ahnn-has been a long time since anyone offered me help”The dramatic pauses and repetitive crying were clear, I didn’t know how to help, I was not at all prepared for such an event. I pulled her into my arms, laying her head on my lap, then was that it? I was mentally and physically paralyzed not knowing what to do, stuck... I only knew how to caress her hair... it was straight and short... it seemed to have a layered fringe. At that moment, the distant voice returned... Instead of shouting for something, it sang, it sang a song, the lyrics were muffled and blurred, but the rhythm and the tone of voice were not... it echoed through the narrow street, I felt peace of mind, the shocking head I had between my crossed legs was no longer relevant, but it was concerning. I looked at the road, the almost disappeared paint, the cobbled sidewalks, the texture of the asphalt guiding the rainwater and reflecting the streetlight, the blinds all closed to the limit, the apartments all so close to each other, the rainwater falling from the roof through a pipe to the ground gracefully. But I had been in that environment for two and a half hours, I was exhausted, but felt nothing. I lightly touched her shoulders to wake her from the soft cry, she looked at me and stood up shyly, completely silent, she helped me to stand, my lower limbs completely sore, but I led her to the place I call home. Still in silence, I put the keys in the apartment door, it was small, not luxurious, but very comfortable, fluffy fabrics, the fire still on, and a cat resting on the blankets, I pointed to the bathroom, she went there and I went to the bedroom. Let’s be realistic, that little piece of time is living art, no explanation, no communication at all, we had connected and knew what we needed, how and when. Meanwhile... the shooting star had not yet appeared, the distant neighbor’s voice still lived in my head, I fell asleep as soon as I landed on the bed, she went to steal my pajamas from the clothesline and slept next to the cat. I still cherish knowing who she is and what she will tell me, I will leave her in peace because despite the 1 room of physical distance, I still feel her heart beating.
— End —