Saudade

 

Once, there was a girl who loved a boy who wrote happy stories, although she was the complete opposite of him. Unlike he, she was looking for the saddest story ever written, something about the most painful feeling any human being could feel, and in her desperation to know true human sorrow, she read every sad book that ever existed.

And the boy who used to write happy stories fell in love with her throughout all her frenzied desperation. He loved her so much his words started to exist for her. The happiness he used to write about stopped becoming what he was trying to convey.

Instead, he conveyed his true feelings for her.

And she never knew.

Years passed and the boy died, left with no more pages to read, the girl returned to find that the person she had loved had passed away, leaving her a book he had written for moments when she was gone.

When they buried him, they had given the book to her, as he requested. The moment she touched the cover, she knew what it was and never read it.

It was what she was looking for.

E P I L O G U E

The little boy walked up to his mother, holding an old, ragged book bound with dried leather strings. She scooped him up in her arms and brushed a kiss on his forehead.

“Where did you find that, my love?” She asked him, but the question passed through his ears as he turned it over and over in his hands.

“Mommy?” The boy spoke, with a tone of curiosity in his voice, “what is this book about?”

She looked at him. She could see him in those wide, innocent eyes, looking back at her.

“Grief.”

Metaphor

“Okay, go on.”

“Hi, my name is Arianne, and my metaphor is a doll. When a doll is brand new, people tend to take care of it, love it, cherish it, but as time passes on, people will forget that it ever existed. In the end it is left forgotten in a corner, gathering dust, fading and breaking until it is thrown away.”

(non-verbatim).

I found my old porcelain doll stuck in the farthest shelf of my cabinet last night. It’s still whole, but somehow, it felt stranger, sadder, lonelier. In all honesty, I’ve had that doll since I was in my second year of High School, and I loved it. I loved it so much that I forgot about it after.

And I realized, me and this porcelain doll are not so different after all.

People tend to be gentle with me at first, once they find out about my broken family and broken self. They love me, they cherish me, they take care of me as if I were going to break with just a soft poke of the finger, as if I were important to them.

And then, they grow weary of me. They tire of the same sadness, the same tears, the same smiles and lies I always show and they leave me. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go. No one really had the heart to love what I truly am.

What I truly am?

I am like my porcelain doll, but the difference is, I found her, and I love her still, while no one has come to pick me up from the corner, and love me truly for who I am.

I used this metaphor for my practical exam in LIT101.

(abkb)

Smoke Rings (version 2)

She took a long drag from the cigarette she was holding, her red lipstick staining it with traces of her unwanted kisses. White smoke curled out of the burning end, through the gaps of her mouth, and her eyes were faded with the dispersing aftermath that poisoned her lungs. She blinked away the smoke that caught in her eyelashes, blue eyes like a cloudy sky.

And yet all the while, as she was slowly sending herself to her death, she was beautiful.

Dewdrops on Blades of Grass

I like to take long walks within school grounds. I like how peaceful it can be with the wind blowing through me as I take each step, and every scene changes with just a blink, with just a breath, or with just a heartbeat. I like how people would pass by me, and when I look at them, I’d realize just how different they are, how diverse the world is.

See How Beautiful You Are?

People tend to say that I am “pretty”, or “amazing”, or “has this fucking nose line that’s to die for”, or “has this beautiful eyes”, or “wonderful hair”.

But beauty doesn’t have to depend on what you’re trying to portray tot he physical world. Beauty is more than that. It is abstract and goes deep, deeper than whatever emotion we can feel. The ones who have the perfect nose, palest skins, bigger boobs? If they do not know how to become decent or whatever, then NO. They are not beautiful. 

However.

Tell me, darlings, is a fucked up girl still beautiful?

Definition of “Fucked up”: messed up, bonkers, out of her mind, weird, crazy, insane.

So…is she? Am I?

No. She is not. I am not.

Don’t ever think that beauty is shallow. Beauty goes far into the mind, and when I say you are, I MEAN IT.

CYBELE

 

This is my little sister.

She is eight years old.

She was born when I was 8 years old, too. 

She likes cats and sweet things and cute things and anything that I have ever liked, too.

But the difference between her and me?

She’s a child, an innocent and beautiful child with a broken family and a fucked up big sister. 

This is my little sister.

And with every inch of my being, I love her. 

I have loved her ever since she was being formed in my mother’s womb. I have loved her and adored her the day she came home. I love her simply just because she is my little sister, and also because she is my savior.

My little sister might not understand how all of this works, however. 

But with her, I can be a little saner, a bit more normal.

I will protect her, just because.

I want to be the kind of big sister that she won’t ever regret having. 

A Flightless Bird

People say that loving the wrong person is a mistake you can never take back. I know how it feels, but that “wrong” person WILL NEVER be a mistake for me.

The Exact Words

“Hey guys! My name is Mark Cavanaugh, and I transferred here from the city.”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that you said when you were called up front for introductions. You were a transferee, a newbie, and of course, everyone wanted to know your name. I for one admit that I wanted to know you. Something about you made me feel like I wanted to get close to you. Was it the way your eyes twinkled? Or the way you smile? Really, I don’t know.

What I saw in you, what I felt from you are things I just can’t explain or put into words.

 

“You’re Rayne right? Why are you alone?”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that you said when you entered the room and chanced upon me eating lunch without any companions.  You were reading a book about baseball, and you had on this pitying look in your face that irritated me. I don’t like pity.

I didn’t answer you. I didn’t want to answer you since you intimidated me so much. You were like a god and I a puny human. I can never reach the star where you’re at.

Do you get the picture?

 

“I want to join the baseball team.”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that you said when the adviser asked what club you’d want to join. I couldn’t help but look up to you, couldn’t help but adore the steadfastness and the way you kept calm and the way you kept your back straight. There was this determination in your eyes even the darkness can’t destroy. Everything about you was like light that blinded me. I felt like Icarus who went too near to the sun and fell to his death.

The difference is I didn’t die.

 

“Why are you always by yourself? Hey fix up your hair. You’re prettier without it covering half of your face.”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that you said when nobody wanted to pair up with me for a game in stupid Physical Education. You neared me then, sat beside me on the benches, and ruffled my hair up. Your eyes stared down at me warmly, and I remember, I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t answer you. I can never answer you. I don’t have the strength to answer you. I’m not strong enough to look into your life without getting blinded.

Why? Why did it have to be you?

I cut my hair, but you didn’t notice.

 

“I nominate Rayne Parker as the Class President. Anyone who goes against me and decides to bully her, I will beat the crap out of.”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that you said when we had class elections a little after you were kicked out of the baseball team for having a huge fight with your captain- whom you injured critically. You started to act withdrawn after that, always preferring to be alone, always shunning away human touch and company. You were slowly letting yourself be consumed by a darkness that doesn’t belong to you.

And I started hating you for it. I started to hate you so much it left me nothing.

You weren’t as strong as I thought you’d be.

Your light wasn’t strong enough.

 

“Rayne…please…please talk to me. What did I do wrong?”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that you said when I walked past you. You waved at me but I didn’t notice you. You smiled at me but I didn’t smile back. The light I had once been looking for in those blue eyes of yours is gone. You’ve given up. You’ve given up. Those words hurt me. I didn’t realize I started acting that way with you. I just wanted the old Mark back. You were drowning in a darkness that didn’t belong to you. I didn’t want to see you suffer like that when you didn’t even deserve it.

No…you deserved it. I just didn’t accept that fact.

 

“Huh? Ah…who are you looking for miss?”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that you said when a girl came up looking for someone. I remember how you blushed and stuttered and she laughed. She said she was looking for her boyfriend. Your face fell. I can’t deny that the girl was pretty. She was like a doll. You were enchanted.

She was someone way out of your league, a star you can’t chase…a moon you can’t touch.

Eternity held its breath for a moment.

You fell in love. I fell into despair.

 

“I don’t know what to do anymore…damn…why does it even have to be her, why? Rayne…please…please talk to me…”

 

I can still remember, those were the exact words that you said when I caught you staring beyond the chain fence that separates our school and hers. She was by the window with this sad look on her face, and a boy was with her. Your eyes were filled with pain that mirrored my own. Your eyes were filled with longing that mirrored my own.

I wanted to save you, but I didn’t know what to do too.

I wanted you to look at me the way I look at you…but I didn’t know how.

Love was a battle I sadly didn’t triumph in.

Mark, why did you say my name?

 

“Stop wallowing. She’s not worth your sadness. Let yourself be happy for once Mark.”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that I said when you were sitting by yourself beside the chain link fence, staring up at her again as she mulled by that same window. She was tearing a heart-shaped cardboard with the words Happy Anniversary written in the middle. She was crying.

“I can’t be happy when she’s not happy.”

That’s what you said in reply. But I held out my hand instead.

I wanted to support you. I wanted to be of help in any way that I could.

You took my hand.

 

 

“Damn, Rayne I’m sorry I-I didn’t mean to do that. Damn. Damn. This is just-ugh!”

 

I can still remember, those were the words that you said after That Night and you were punching the wall until your knuckles bled. It was both sad and happy for me, that night where I had given you my all. You thought it was the biggest mistake ever.  I kind of understood you. I know you don’t even have feelings for me.

It hurt me so much, but I tried to understand. I tried to understand.

You love that girl, and I am only in the way, right Mark?

The darkness continued to drown me, but you never noticed. It’s always like that Mark. It’s always like that. You never even noticed me when you don’t need me.

I tried so hard.

 

“I love you Rayne, really, I do.”

 

I can still remember, those were the words that you said when we went out to watch the stars. I could hear the trace of a lie in your voice. I can see the pleas of disbelieving you shining in your eyes. I swallowed back down the bitter truth and forced myself to believe in you.

But I knew you didn’t love me, and I accepted it. I accepted that fact and lived.

There’s no need to lie to me Mark. There’s no need to lie when I know every speck of truth. You still love her and there’s no changing that. I am of course, nothing to you. I’m useless. There’s no changing that.

Please don’t lie.

I don’t want you to die inside anymore.

 

“Rayne…if I ask you to let me go, will you?”

 

I can still remember, those were the words that you said when it was raining so hard and I saw you outside. I had run down the stairs, umbrella in hand, worried that you might get sick, but you didn’t let me take a step near you. You had said those words and my world stopped turning. You weren’t letting me see your eyes, but I knew. I knew it was that girl. I knew that she needed you. I knew that you wanted to be with her. I had no right.

I had no right to stake my claim on you when you weren’t really mine to begin with.

But I was so tired. Mark, I was so tired.

“I love you.”

I said it to you, shouting it into your face, and you were so surprised you couldn’t answer. And then you shook your head. You shook your head. You shook your head.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s what you said and you turned your back on me. You left me there. You left me there to shatter and I did.

Shattering…shattering….breaking into nothing.

Continue to shatter me, until I have nothing left to give.

 

“If that’s where you’re happy…”

 

I remember, those were the exact words that I said to you when you stopped in front of me to tell me something. But I didn’t let you speak. I didn’t want to hear what you said.

We’re separated by a wall, and this wall is made up of titanium. I can’t break through and reach you. I can’t break through and save you. I can’t even save myself.

Mark, is love really like this?

Because, no matter how I try to change that fact our ending will always stay the same, and I can’t do anything to change that fact anymore.

In the other side of the wall, I wonder, were you crying like I was? That seems impossible. You never cried in front of me, much less cry with me. You didn’t want to show me that you were weak. You wanted to say that you were strong and you didn’t need me to save you.

How about me Mark? Did you ever ask? No. You never did. You never asked if it hurt. You never asked if it was unbearable. You never asked if those words I told you were exact.

Some people get tired, but they never really give up the fight. Some things are really meant to become that way. I guess I was meant to be like that too.

But I’m tired Mark. I’m so tired.

I don’t want to give up.

I love you. Will you look at me the way I look at you?

But you can’t and it hurts.

Where does that lead me?

I am of course, nothing.

 

“Goodbye.”

 

I hope that you will remember that last exact word that will be uttered from my lips. Especially when you’re right there watching me. You’re running, crying, trying to stop time.

You are too late, too late as always. You’ll only notice me whenever you need me…or when I don’t need you. Funny, how things like this can change everything in the blink of an eye. I bet you’re already happy with her.

I jump.

 

You scream.

 

Oh…late as alwa-

I Could Still Remember It

I could still remember it.

It was dark, and cold, so very cold. The sky held no stars or moon or any celestial body, and it was outright freezing.

I could still remember how it felt.

The shining, glimmering thing in my hands, all slick and warm and fiery red, the way it glinted in the darkness with an almost ephemeral glow, and it exhilarated me. I couldn’t forget how beautiful it looked, how wonderful the cold metal felt as it made contact with my skin.

It was beautiful.

It was beautiful.

So, so beautiful.

But the very epitome of this memory was how the way she was screaming.

I could still remember what she sounded like.

She was screaming into the darkness, screaming and begging and crying as the knife came into her being with a thousand flashing glints. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. All in quick, five-second intervals, over and over and over and over.

Squelch. Thud. Spill. The scent of blood and piss and human waste.

And she was still.

I remember what I did after that.

I dropped the knife and the blood splattered, staining the dark green grass with shimmering drops of liquid rubies,  after that, I stared at her.

Still, bloody, ravaged. She wasn’t human anymore.

She was a corpse.

A corpse that was once called “mother”.

By whom?

By me.

And I could still remember it.

Smoke Rings

She took a long drag from the cigarette she was holding, her red lipstick staining it with traces of her unwanted kisses. White smoke curled out of the burning end, through the gaps of her mouth, and her eyes were faded with the dispersing aftermath that poisoned her lungs.

And yet all the while, as she was slowly sending herself to her death, she was beautiful.

I stared at her all the while, as she was inhaling and exhaling, enduring the poisonous remains of her cigarette that made my lungs constrict. I tried to stay as close to her as possible, but also tried not to breathe in her addiction. Unlike her, I appreciated my lungs.

Clare and I were different. I knew that. She was one of the wild girls roaming around the alleyways, sticking things into her with a passion not one for girls her age, from toys to tongues to men to women to drugs. Anything.

 She smoked a lot, cheap cigarettes, marijuana, cigars she got from one of her wealthier clients, and she loved to paint her lips with the shade of hot, bloody red. They were lips to die for, lips that curve into a heart when she purses them, lips I’d love to kiss all day, all day.

But I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

“You’ve been thinking for a while now, Joanna,” she told me as she dropped her cigarette, extinguishing its remaining life with just a stub of her shoe. She flicked away a strand of hair on her face as she crossed her arms to her chest. “What’s been bothering you?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off those red, full lips, shaped like the perfect stereotypical heart when she pouts.  I wanted to know what it would feel like, what it would taste like, how they would curl in ecstasy.

But I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, “what’s going on?”

I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell her. My words were glued to the back of my throat, and I couldn’t tell her.

She pushed away from the old brick wall, crumbling away into dust like I was, and she swung her hips, walking away, leaving me to myself and to the silence and aftermath of my broken, broken thoughts.

I couldn’t tell her.

I couldn’t tell her.

I couldn’t tell her.

There she went, the woman I love, and I was damned for it. I was damned for it. I am still damned for it.