He was there from Day 1. Literally.
Our mothers were beside each other in the hospital. Then, he met me, and I met him.
We stuck together from the first week. Holding hands, we swore, once we were big enough to talk, that we would always be together. Forever
The journey from there was long. Long, hard, sometimes sad, sometimes happy. And it was twisted. But that's okay. Because a jouney wouldn't be exciting if it was perfectly straight.
Springs, we spent together. Summers, when the sun shines the brightest. When the days were longer, nights shorter. Autumns, when the leaves fall. And winters, when it was cold, and white. Long nights, short nights.
But I didn't like sad journeys. Why? Because on sad journeys, you cry.
Crying wasn't pangs of pain that hit you in the chest. It hurts all the way, planting itself like a seed inside you. Right there, beside your heart. When the time comes, it just goes boom. All it takes is a little push, a little tip over the edge.
So, when it goes boom, it grows, big. It grows branches, leaves, roots. It slowly kills you inside. But if you try to stop it, or take it out, you just feel more pain.
Because it is already a part of you. Killing it is killing a part of you, too.
But then, crying is okay. Because he will always be there, a shoulder to lean on, a warm hand to hold. Now, it's not okay.
Now, he isn't here. He has someone else.
Why? I would think. Why did you break our promise?
Now, I know.
Her life simply costs more than mine.
Maybe he sucked the soul out of me and put mine on a weighing scale. Maybe mine just dosen't weigh anything.
Now, nights are longer in the summer. Days are longer in the winter. Most of all, everything is gray.
Black, white.
Summers are colder. Winters get freezing. It feels like death. Cold, clammy hands crawling up your skin. Times dosen't move. Days stopped coming and going. Autumns are no longer fiery.
When the lake freezes over, I tell myself,
Ah, winter is here again.
Another year has gone by.
Sometimes, I scream. I plead, I beg. Please, let him come back. Back to me. I can pay for it with my life, but then again, my life isn't worth anything.
Sometimes, it gets really cold. Then, cutting myself is better. Blood gushing out of my veins are better. It felt warm, for once. Then I continued doing that. But one day, I went to sleep. I couldn't wake up. I felt hollow, and colder.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital, and it was already spring.
Springs are nicer then. He and I walk to school together, and back. It was just the two of us. The sakura blooms, and we watch it together. It was like autumn, but on a whole different level.
2 years back, I started writing. Like a diary. Every day, one page is used up. Sometimes even two. I wrote everywhere. On the train, on the bus, at home on the bed at night, with the lamp on beside me, the yellow hue shining on the small notebook. I would show him my works, and he liked them. That was basically why I continued writing.
Being popular in school means getting seperated from him. For once, he got angry at me. Jealous, and lonely. I only talked to him after that.
I would ask,
If he knew what it felt like to be ignored, to be left alone, then why isn't he coming back now?
But it wouldn't be answered the next day.
I don't like sad journeys. It isn't simple, like a hard level to clear in a game. But most importantly, it means that you would cry.
I cry a lot. I don't like our journey, but it is always the sad journeys that have the sweetest memories. And the worst futures. But it was always only one person who gets sad. The other will be completely oblivious. I don't want that. I want us to get through this together.
I'm pretty sure friendship dosen't work this way. Friends don't look at each other, and think,
Oh, how much I love him.
I want him to stay by my side, forever.
I wish he would look at me more.
I don't want to expect anything, but when I do, I always get disappointed. Then, although I said that I want us to get through this together, I decide to keep it to myself. I was selfish, and I still am.
But then, he sees right through me. That's why I love him. He dosen't show it, but he really does care. When the stars come out, and everything is silent, he would come over to my bed, and let me rest on his shoulder for awhile. I hold his hands, too. Those were the best nights.
Writng helps me cry less. Writing about our sad journey helps a lot. Music, too. Headphones plugged in all the time, music ringing in my ears as I pen down my memories. I like my music soft, and it has to be acoustic. It calms me, and the chest pains would stop.
Chest pains are scary, your heart would feel like it was squeezed, and I would huddle in a corner as it continues to kill a part of me. I don't have the time to plug in my headphones. He dosen't know this, and I don't have a shoulder to lean on. It is funny how I cut myself like nothing mattered in the world, and yet I was scared when it felt like I was dying. I didn't want to die, yet I wished that all the blood would just flow out of me and drop me into the pits of hell. I am disgusting.
I don't draw. I can't. My drawings are always crappy. Him, on the other hand, was the best artist I have ever seen. He can't write well, though. Maybe we were really meant for each other.
Now, he dosen't draw anymore, but I keep every single one of his drawings. They are in a folder, all spread out and smooth. They were like hidden gems. Treasures.
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To be continued next chapter :)
A/N
This chapter is dedicated to OikawaIsFab, staringmindlessly, @Kuroos--thighs
and everyone who reads this fanfiction. Special mentions to those who voted :) I read the comments too.
Thank you!
-tooru
