Touch

1 ︳

 

❝so i waited for you... what wouldn't i do?❝

—coldplay

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 ©

before

My father always used to tell me how life was so precious. Even if it was those bad days, were crying was one of the many things I did, he would always find the right words to say. The way he said them, made them so much meaningful. He used to say them with an accent, like it wasn't himself who said them, but someone completely different. Someone who he pretended to be. That was my father's priorities; it was his way of escaping the hectic world even for just a minute. I grew up knowing that life was precious, only because of my father's words. Even if I wanted to forget them, just for a minute, I knew I couldn't. Because it was a way of remembering him, saving his words, and the accent that he used to do, I grew up finding out that they were memories, not something I should forget, but something I should save.

And that made me miss him even more. Not hearing his words echoing through my old hardwood bedroom door, was a reality, something that made me realize that he wasn't here, that his words of life would never again be sounded in this house.

 "Marlow," my mother's voice echoed through the house, her velvety voice sending gentle shivers down my back, "I think that you should go a little out, enjoy a book or something." even though, I couldn't see her, only my ears could hear the silence that filled the room after her voice left my head. My mother was the definition of something you couldn't quite keep up, you couldn't control. I couldn't control her; her feelings, her actions; no one could.

 Some days she wouldn't talk. Just small whispers or a little grunt from her was her daily words. And when she did talk, it wasn't for me, just a plain white wall or something that couldn't judge her like she thought everyone did, including me.

Swoosh.  

The match scraped across the brown side of the box and exploded into a ravenous flame. I looked at it, observing the orange glow that was slightly dancing in the breeze because of my opened window.

I watched it for a few seconds, twirling it around, before dropping it in the cup beside me. Immediately the hungry flame burned out, my body already missing something badly.

Hiding the cup of water in an empty drawer, and shoving the box of matches in the pocket of my jeans, I picked myself up from the carpet.

I dashed past the coat hanger near the door, my outstretched hand grasped my worn out sweater. I tried to put on my sweater without the sleeves of my undershirt bunching up while I managed to put on my yellow boots.

 It was like a hurricane outside. The cold wind hugged me, swallowing me almost. It was rare that a storm had set foot in a small town like this. It was only famous for the delicious cakes that they sell down the abounded street down town.

 I hugged myself, due to the cold breeze that was dancing around the town, trees were slowly moving side to side, creating an almost rhythm, and with my hands in my pockets, I reached out to touch the wind, and even though i couldn't really touch it, or see it, I could still feel it beneath the layer of skin underneath my fingers.

↔ 

The storm was still hovering over the town by the time I had entered the library. The smell of recirculated air through dusty old filters and the burning smell of hot transformers from hundreds of florescent light fixtures were mixing in the air, as I stepped in.