I pretended like you didn't exist, and I acted like I didn't care, put up charades every day and night, laughing it off whenever Mum brings you up. I moved on-- or so I thought. I kept you locked away in the depths of my despair, covering it with layers upon layers of tears and lies that are coated with the glossy, impermeable finish of a forcefully ridiculous "new start". I thought I was happy. I knew more than anyone else that I've changed, that losing you affected me in ways I thought it would never... I was wrong about myself from the very beginning.
I tried, going back to you, but it didn't work, did it? When I found it too hard to bear, I'd drop a message, expecting just a little bit of sympathy from stone-cold you. Hah. Pathetic. The replies you sent were like bullets of the finest craftsmanship, quick, silent and they leave a perfectly shaped exit wound. It wouldn't hurt at first, the pain only comes when the victim realizes that all hope of survival is lost when the hole in their heart is felt. It must be karma. I used to pierce you soul with my words, now it's my turn to be ragged.
Jack Black was on the 55-inch TV, I wasn't paying attention. My phone was out in the hall, but as it sounded, a faint echo of my message tone floated into the TV room. Who could it be? A movie invitation to watch After Earth by one of me mates? I shrugged and went to look at the text. I wasn't expecting to reply anything.
New text message: Z...
The fuck was that about? I almost slapped myself.
The name you used in the text was enough to make me think: "Hey, did I just die or something?" maybe your cookies were drugged. My heart stopped. I must admit, it caught me off guard and I felt a surge of happiness, yet I knew it was all too sad. Friends? No. We're strangers... Strangers that know each other like the back of their own hands. Strangers that know every detail and every flaw there is... I find it amazing, how I can keep all those things compressed in my chest.
The brief second where it stopped, a hurricane came and damaged the serene scene of my seemingly happy life. Time froze and I found myself back to the place I was before-- alone in the dark. Looking over my shoulder, I could see the burning house which never seems to turn into ash, the flames forever burning a bright amber. It was all in the back of my mind. My ears were deaf to the screaming victims, the rivulet of tears I've cried already dried, staining my cheeks. I'm angry at myself for not being able to do anything. Not even run away from it all. My feet were cemented to the ground. I am forced to face the image of this once perfect haven that's up in flames for as long as the memory of us still remains.
Days. Weeks. Months.
How long again before I hear from you? Our distance isn't even that great. There isn't even an ocean between us! Yet it feels as if we are from different worlds. It takes only three hours for me to arrive at your doorstep, but I wouldn't even try. I know I'd bet shooed like a salesman on a Saturday afternoon.
"I'm busy at the moment. I don't have time for you."
"I understand. Thanks anyway, for your time."
The truth about love... It doesn't really matter. For some people, it just doesn't exist.
I continue to lie.
I'm scared and worried. I'd like to hear your voice again, telling me it's okay, the soft kisses that you'd blow and the words to lull me to sleep. One last comfort, to keep me in shape, to help me get through my final exams, then I'll be gone forever... There will really be an ocean between us by then.
One last comfort; one last goodbye... That's all I ask of you... Biscuit.
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