16 years ago,
Dad has been drinking more and more. Mom has stopped coming with me to our morning runs. I have stopped too.
Lost in my worries, I go to the school block for kindergarten students and search for my butterfly. I run to upper kindergarten and I spot her. I couldn't control myself, I hug her and cry. She smiles sadly at me and keeps brushing off my tears. She doesn't tell me anything. I wonder if this is the last time I get to see her.
That evening I go to the temples. I cry and beg in front of him. For her. For me. For life.
I pray to God, that I get to spend my life with butterfly. That he is not ending my story, when it hasn't even begun.
I pray to god that even if I never see her again, I want Butterfly to live a longer and happier life.
I pray to God, to end my life and give my years to hers.
I pray to God, that life is fair, because her sickness is killing the hopes I have for my life too.
I am unable to paint anymore.
I am unable to study anything.
I am unable to think.
I am unable to speak.
I am unable to act like another 8 year old.
Days pass in a blur. I continue going to temple everyday. My eyes are always heavy without sleep and because of crying. I don't have the strength to see her, because each time I do, reality hits me, and something tells me that it might as well be the last time with her.
I am unable to think of anything. I am unable to speak. I haven't been to the singing classes, I am not ready to let her go yet. My classmates try to speak to me, but let me on my own since they don't receive any acknowledgement from the other side. Moreover, I don't think I can speak without crying. My best friend tries harder though, to make me happy, but I think even he is tired and lets me be all by myself.
Slowly.
My marks deteriorate.
I deteriorate.
I realise that my life looks bleak without butterfly in it.
Without anything to hope for.
I realise for an 8 year old, I am actually in love and she might be the only and only one for me.
"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
YOU ARE READING
Beneath the Vivid White Coats
RomanceTwo people. Two different lives. Two different love stories. Two different destinies. Iyana, 21 year old, a nerd, medical student, who falls head over heals in love with her senior at her school. Iyana: Nothing was making much sense to me. He was...
