I find it odd, your words. Maybe you've realized, maybe not. But they do not correlate, the story is written out of order.
FICTION: noun, invention or fabrication as opposed to the fact
In a way, this was my moment of realization. If you, the one I placed above my own, could mislead in such a disruptive fashion, then who was I to place that burden upon myself? It was your decision, mine long forgotten. Perhaps it was best this way, for if my opinion had mattered then it would've disappeared as fast as it had come.
The invention of you I had created has since dissipated. The noticeable fantasy that excused your inhibitions left me rattled, alone, dying. While the rose had not, I had taken its place.
"Ok? What about it?"
It was everything about it, everything and anything more.
Where I once pondered and deprecated the thought, all that was left was the burning sensation behind each speculation. It was the single thing that drove me further from where you stood, escaping the slurs and stranding you alone in the middle of the street.
The paint told me this would happen, and I had neglected the warning. It swirled and demanded to be heard, but I hadn't wanted the words to be true. None of the words. Amazing how such small phrases can change the next steps in your future, in anyone's future.
In my future, I have no idea where to search for it.
But one idea stands: forget.
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Colors Behind the Glass ✓
Poésie[COMPLETED] Lonnie has been through several life-changing events. The most impactful is the death of their abuelita and the loss of someone close to them as they came out as non-binary. They have struggled with coming to terms with these two facts...
