Football One Shots

Frigid Hearts (Tomas Rosicky)

not edited.

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You never understood how hurt I was when you broke up with me, and to be honest, I still don't know why. You didn't explain to me anything, and you just turned your back at me leaving me in bizarre bewilderment.

Perhaps, if you had given me a reasonable answer, I would have sympathized and let go. Love has to be two-sided, and I can't help it if you don't feel lust for me any more. I would end the relationship peacefully, cherishing the moments we had together when we were in love.

The smiles, the laughs, holding hands, the sweet berry words we exchanged would be worth something. It is an enigma if those moments were real or hallucinations my eyes played on me. Personally, I think they were hallucinations.

The news said you were secretly dating her-Jolenka Flipovic. Compared to her, I am nothing. All I am is a little naïve girl from Adelaide, Australia, right? She was an insanely talented singer as well, and I have no doubt why you fell for her, but why hide it from me? You were so tender with me in the mornings, where I stupidly thought our feelings were mutual; they weren't. At night, you would be kissing her lips the same way you did to mine, just with a lot more passion.

I overheard your conversation with Mikel on the phone myself. You seemed different than the Tomas I knew. The words I heard exchanged through your phone were not the words of encouragements nor the words of jokes and humor. They were the words of a coward: You confessed everything wrong you did in our relationship, all your 'regrets and mortal sins'.

If they were your sins, why did you continue doing such tedious acts?

I walk by and by the streets of London alone now, wondering what happened to the mirthful us before.

You wouldn't care anyways, though, since 'us' to you is you and Jolenka, not you and me.

I keep trying to drop it, leave it, and abandon these problems, but I simply cannot. No matter how I try, you're always on my mind and you seem to haunt me. The mere image of you reflecting in my imagination is reminding me that I will never love anyone like you again, and most likely never fall in love again.

Don't feel sorry for me, Tomas. I don't want your pity. I may want your affection, but most certainly not your undesired grief. That's disgusting, you know? That's shameful.

Alas, do you even recall of me clearly enough to pity me?

Do you remember the girl you teased because her name was same to her hometown? What was her name? Yes, her name was Adelaide. Do you remember the girl with the straight black hair bouncing on her back? Yes, she then proceeded to cut it shorter a few months after she met you. She was so dazzled at your beauty, flabbergasted at what stood before her that she did so.

And now look what happened to her.

She's now a torn up mess, a masterpiece shredded into microscopic scraps. She has no remaining heart or mind left, only kaleidoscopes of aching memories. She's a nobody anymore, and the only thing holding her back is you.

Aren't you surprised, Tomas?

The only reason why I am still standing on Earth is you.

Before I disappear into mist, I'd like you to tell me why you broke up with me and one last time, whisper softly into my years with your adorable yet horrendous English, "I love you".

It's not likely, but dreams are dreams. They seem anazing and extravagant at first, though as they carry on, storms and dark skies cover them completely and the sunshine vanishes.