flowers at sea -lukadrien

-11- dreaming of you

It was midnight, yet I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about it, about him.

I didn't mean to say that, I didn't even know I could say that, and I definitely didn't expect him to agree with me. Why did I say that? Why did I say that? Why did I say that? The question kept ringing in my head.

Did I mean what I said? Did he take me seriously? Did I just confess my love to a crush I didn't even know I had? It happened so fast I didn't have the time to think properly.

Lying down on bed, looking at the blank ceiling in my cold, quiet room. He wouldn't leave my mind, the thought of him made me flustered. Did I catch feelings just because of my accidental confession or had I loved him for this entire time.

Suddenly I remembered the whole event of what happened that day at the beach, how he came up to me, how he got up and left. It happened so fast, in that brief moment, how could I had known him? I shouldn't even remember him at this point.

I remembered the disappointment so distinguishably, the hope bottled up in me as I sat under the shade thinking of him, strumming on my guitar, absolutely positive that he would arrive. How naive was I back then, so desperate for a friend, wanting people to like me.

I rolled to my side, touching the tip of my fingers I played the guitar with, the soft fingers I had back then, became hard and solid. It doesn't hurt like it did before, when I had blisters everyday, yet I kept playing, as stubborn as I am, I refused to give up. I guess I'm the same now, unable to let go the feeling of that slight spark I had in me. The boy who approached me when I was alone, the blonde boy with green hair, Adrien, saying his name feels so foreign, it was like a sin. He had always lurked at the back of my mind, unwilling to forget about him, about us.

I couldn't sleep, it was just impossible to sleep this way. I pushed away the blankets, stumbling off the bed to my nightstand and turned picked up my torchlight. I made my way to my desk, reaching for my notebook, I took out a pen and flipped open the pages, momentarily glancing at the failed lyrics I tried to write. 

I turned to the very last page and picked up my pen, the grip of it felt so right, this aroma, this silent background, this position. It was perfect.

When the tip of my pen touched the paper, the words came throwing at me, my hand couldn't keep up with my thoughts. My hand just kept going, on and on. I wouldn't stop even if I had to, it was like the lyrics was perfectly planned out all this time for me, just waiting for this moment for me to write down.

I hadn't even realised I was already panting when I finished the song, my forehead was beaded with cold sweat, my hand was numb and tensed. Then came the most important part, a title.

Without hesitation, my hand worked on it's own. 'Flowers at Sea', the beautiful cursive drew itself on the top left corner of the page, I looked at my accomplishment proudly as I shut the book and managed a yawn.

I turned off the torchlight, lying back down in bed, pulling the sheets to my chest, just like that, I fell into deep sleep, dreaming of him once again.