⟨ status: complete ⟩
"They say artists are nothing but sad people, unaccepted by society of who they are. Masking themselves in 'personas' to fit in." She turned to him, placing her beloved paintbrush on the table with her face adorning a beautiful...
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Soft pitter-pattering of gentle drizzling rain calms her weary mind, a momentary respite from all the internal struggle— the weird voices that suddenly whispered to her ears so mysteriously. If not for Camilo's appearance, she would have broken down like smashed porcelain-ware run over by a cart on the street.
"I love it when it rains, it reminds me that even the clouds get tired from holding—carrying whatever burden they have for so long."
"You speak like a 40 year-old woman, chica."
Her eyes tore away from the window to look at Camilo, who is staring at her with a smirk etched upon his freckled face. He really enjoys staring at her up close, as he could see every single detail of her pretty face. Certainly a blessing to be with her up close.
"My mother is 42, yet not once did I hear nor witnessed her say the things I say."
"I guess your mom's different then." He replied arms crossed, leaning on the table resting his chin on it, his eyes closing for a moment. He should really fix his posture, the girl noted, eyes still fixated on the curly-haired boy in front of her. She really wants to touch his floofy hair, it looks quite soft to the touch. One day, she'll get the opportunity to do so. (Sweetie you can just ask him, he'll be quite happy to comply. Perhaps a bit too happy—)
"All of us are different, you and I are different. Not even identical twins are the same."
"I don't think I'm different. I mean, my gift is shape-shifting— I can be anyone but me." He said to his friend, voice muffled from burying his face on his arm; refusing to meet her eyes, fearing she'd see right through him. See his so-called ridiculous dilemma.
"Be anyone but you? Camilo, all I see is no one else but you." She immediately retorted, he could feel her gaze staring down at him, ready to stomp down or pluck out whatever negative thought that had sprouted on Camilo's mind like an unwanted invasive weed.
"Right now, all I see is a nice boy who's very caring to his friend." She began, standing up from the comfy chair she once sat on to stand behind Camilo's hunched form, she then held his shoulders to gently ushered him to sit up.
"I see..." She leaned down and whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear as she spoke, sending satisfying shivers down his spine.
"A very loving boy who loves his family more than he loves himself."
Gently squeezing both shoulders, she listed down everything that makes Camilo... Well, Camilo.
"I see a boy who makes people smile."
A boy who can't do anything.
"I see a boy who is unsure of himself, yet is unaware that he has all the time of the world to figure out who he is—that there is no one rushing you to do so."
How come you can read me like a book? It's just isn't fair, I want to be the one who should comfort you. You literally broke down in the middle of a street, yet you pretend that nothing even happened.
