Warning: this story contains dark theme about depression, sex, violence, and language that may trigger emotional trauma to people who experienced the same. Read at your own risk.
Beauty is a gift from God, or so they say. Bethany Chaleir De Vera lea...
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Eight: Love is Bullshit
It was hard to live inside a healthy body that fights to survive when you have a mind that tries to die.
I stayed with Art for two more days when I had nowhere else to go and no one to talk to. I stayed with him because I can't trust myself for my well-being. And I have to admit that being with him made me feel like I'm a different person, like my name wasn't Beth and that my past was irrelevant. Like I was a whole new person, creating newer memories, living a new life.
Maybe it was his innocence, it reminded me of me when life didn't fuck me over.
Or maybe it was his genuine laughter that reverberates inside of me. Whenever I'm with him, I sometimes forget how sad my soul can be.
Being with him made me feel like I was living in a fantasy I created for myself.
But I know I had to face my reality. This was nothing but an illusion. I know sooner or later, I have to leave him behind, because that's how it should be. It always ends up in two things — me destroying him because of my toxicity and my contagious sadness, or him destroying me even more.
There was no saving in the vast ocean. All of us just drags each other down so we can reach up.
I didn't tell him my name, I didn't tell him where I live so it would be easier when the time comes.
I closed my eyes, my arms were on the door of his car, and I slightly bent forward to feel the cold December breeze slapping on my cheeks as the speed of his car accelerated, my hair flying on my face. Lord Huron's voice sang slightly on the background, the sun was slowly setting, creating orange and white colours above the sky.
I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt I've been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met
Pumalumbaba ako sa pinto at tinitigan iyong litrato na kinuha niya sa akin.
"Hindi ka ba nilalamig d'yan?" Tanong niya sa akin. I looked back at him and saw him slightly peek at me before returning his gaze on the road, his hair dancing along with the rhythm of the wind, one hand on the steering wheel and another on the gear stick.
I slightly shook my head.
"Okay," ngumisi siya at nilakasan ang radyo niya. Nanatili ang tingin ko sa kan'ya, sa kulot niyang buhok at sa singkit niyang mga mata. Sa matangos na ilong at sa manipis na labi. These lips are always curled upwards, like there was nothing to feel sad about.
Muli kong naalala ang semicolon niyang tattoo sa likod ng tainga. What did it mean? Is he depressed? I wouldn't be surprised. Depression can take a lot of faces, regardless if they look so happy on the outside.
That's the thing about it, we have mastered the art of wearing masks.
Nilingon niya ako saglit at kumunot ang noo, ang labi ay nakangiti pa rin. "Bakit? Gwapong gwapo ka ba sa 'kin?"
