Now breathing heavily, I almost stumble upon my knees. I lay my arms out, trying to reach out to her and to hold her hands, to tell her not to leave me behind. Each moment was crushing me more, and my body was aching uncontrollably. I felt my blood rushing all over my body, and the dampy air was impaling right through my head. All the veins inside of my body could pop at that very moment.
Now breathing even louder, I cannot help but fall on the ground. The noise was so loud that she changed her direction to look at me yet again. I saw the pupil in her eyes widen and the tilt of her head changing. Why is she so calm? Why does it feel like she is laughing at me? That I am not an importance to her? That she did all of this for the sake of it?
But I was wrong… I was again very wrong about my lovely A–.
She was not laughing at my face. She did not leave me here to perish alone. She herself was freezing from cold. However, before I could look at her again properly, she took her coat off and wrapped it up around me. I did not see a bit of shock or hesitation inside of her. As if whatever we had talked about earlier was completely pointless in contrast to wherever we are right now. She was prepared — she was prepared that something like this may happen to me and that she may get to wrap herself around, no strings attached. That she could be there to watch over like a star in the sky and that I was not just bound to being a lovely, melancholic maniac to her. Why would you stay here otherwise? To get yourself hurt?
She stayed close to me, watching over me. The sight of her face was quite alluring. I couldn't help but be allured by her. That all my detesting and contesting against my own will had failed me, and all I wanted was to see the warm smile on her face once again.
She had been wearing a long black trench, and the variant of shirt she was wearing was unknowns to me. I had so little knowledge about the actual world, and she never failed to amuse me with her vast sense of fashion and interests. At times I felt jealous — why couldn't I be her? And why is she who she is? I don't remember the color of her pants; however, it was long linen pants. It looked quite elegant on her short and slim body. Everything paired so well — I wish I could pull her closer to feel the fabric of her clothes on me and the scent of her body layering over me.
Her hair was set loose, and her long, waved-up hair moved freely whenever she made a movement. Her hair was displaying as if it's a curtain bang, and the length of her hair — which wasn't long, however not that short — paired with the texture and scent by her conditioner made for a perfectly sculptured artifact. Her nose was small and slim; however, it was long with a mole marking it. A mole I wish to kiss, however as of now, I have been stripped of my privilege to do so.
She was wearing red lipstick, and seeing my liveliness rise a little, she gave me an innocent smile. I could see smile lines on her — however, it was pretty. I was captivated and consumed by an overwhelmingly curious question: why do people try so hard to get rid of so-called smile lines? When the person I love displays them perfectly — how they are a sign of beauty?
Her lips were a bit dry, however they were the single sweetest body I have ever tasted. Despite not needing to feel them at that very moment, I was well aware. She always makes a small little face whenever I want to draw her or she wants to take a picture or she just smiles at me with amusement.
Her forehead was one of my dearest places, as it's a place where I found warmth upon kissing. Her cheekbones were a bit noticeable and, paired with the shape of her face, made just the woman of my dreams. Her head was overall round-shaped and colored with a rich brown tone. Her perfume yelled floral, and the way she looked at me…
Oh my dear A—, how could you tell me to forget you, to abandon you, when you look at me with those eyes?
Her eyes were yelling for help — however, the strength and bravery behind those warm, starry eyes… I am greatly bewildered about what part of her eyes I should talk about, as every part of her eyes deserves a novel of its own.
I felt ashamed for making this poor girl go through all the pain and not being there for her when she needed me. The dark circles under her eyes — oh, I wish I could kiss them again and tell her that it's beautiful, that it's a remark of who she was, and that she had no need to worry about the way people perceived her. There lied no flaws in her. Her gaze wasn't sharp at all; however, I felt as if it was. The eyeliner on her eyes and fruitfulness made her seem like a cat, a cat we both adored. Her eyes were embraced by her eyebrows, which float as if to guard the beauty of eyes a bit above — which were perfectly symmetrical.
And if I were to go on about her, could I ever even finish?
Suddenly, in an outburst, I get up and try talking hastily,
"My A—, my dear A—, my love, you are not leaving me behind, right? That was all a bad misunderstanding, right? You still love me, right? Let's—"
"Could you please stop?" she yelled.
My eyes wide opened, and without missing a heartbeat, I started yelling too, to her horror,
"You nasty witch, can't you just be gone from my life for good? Why do you keep pretending to care for me? To cater to me? Just to say you want to abandon me? I cannot more with your cheap games. Just go already. Go find another man for your nonsense and garbage. Stop saying you care or you ever loved me. Be gone, you filthy prostitute."
She didn't say anything. No expression on her face, no hurry, not even thinking about taking her coat that she had left with me. Facing the opposite of me, she started to walk slowly without any given destination, looking nowhere.
I realized instantly the weight of my words and the absurdity of me going insane.
Out of fear, regret, and guilt, I run up to her and start begging her to not leave me behind, and that it was said out of an ill state of mind, that I didn't actually mean any of it, that I cannot bear to live without her presence and that I needed her and forgiveness.
We were both walking, and I was making random head and hand gestures, trying to look as if I were making a point. I was desperately crying and shaking, and half of what I said had no meaning whatsoever.
"But A—, listen to me, A—, I have no idea what I was saying, please cries please coughs listen coughs to me, I beg you, I beg you, I will kneel on my knees, I promise lets out a deep breath, just look at me, please, please A—."
I stop for a brief time before bursting out again. Even I didn't know what I wanted or what I should say. I was getting pulled away, getting asked the question: why am I putting myself here? Why does she get to do this to me? Why do I love someone like A—?
How can someone have so little sympathy? God, take me… no, God, take her away. Make her perish. That I hope she never finds a guy like me who loves her as I do. That her future is covered in storm and her earth faced with drought. She spends the rest of her life looking for me, that she never finds peace in anything.
I stop walking for a second, cursing her and wishing ill of her in my mind.
I hoped that seeing me stop, she'd turn around. That she'd turn around in a desperate attempt, thinking that I had abandoned her, that I had the authority, and that she had lost me forever.
However, she didn't stop. She didn't even flinch. She kept going.
No, no, no… this can't be right. Something shivered all over me yet again — an overwhelming sense of shame and despair.
Did she? Did she abandon me? Were my words that impelling?
But… but she has said such harsh words to me. How… how can she have the last laugh?
No, no, how is this fair? God, are you even real?
I looked to see her again, and she had almost disappeared along with the darkness.
I felt so down to earth, so lonely, and so desperate.
I wanted to dash towards her, to not let go of her sight.
I wanted to discard the last bit of dignity I had left, and I wanted to reach out to her, exhausted, begging yet again, wanting to try my best like a toddler trying to convince their parent.
Though I didn't move physically, in my mind I was kneeling and crying.
Where do I even pat with my hands?
As my mind is being eaten by its deliriousness and my heart is aching,
I wanted to reach out to you —
to cut open myself and to pour out an ocean before you,
but you would never understand why I cut myself,
rather complain the ocean not being blue.
Do you know, my love, I can't stop loving you because I was tired, rather I will stop showing it and let it pile up inside of me, where each moment of it will feel like I was being dragged deeper into the depths of Hades.