It was a chilly Sunday morning, and the freezing wind was slapping the dull green leaves against each other. I did up my laces and took one last look at my reflection. This was it. This was my last shot at winning back what I had lost, and there was no way I was letting it go this time.
With every step that I took on that lonely road, my heartbeat pounded a little harder, and with every turn that I took, the thoughts in my mind changed their direction. The sun was up when I finally reached his place, and I stared up at his balcony like a child eyeing a jar of cookies sitting on the topmost shelf.
I called his number, and with the melody of his ringtone, raised a melancholy in my stomach, where once a thousand butterflies used to flutter at the feeling of his lips kissing my neck.
I was lying to myself all this time, comforting myself with the distant thought of getting back something that was never mine to have. But now, I gave up.
My eyes were dry, because all my tears were busy drowning my soul, and now I know what killed the butterflies.
Those poor things couldn’t survive the pieces of my shattered heart falling on them.
Hello there, hooman!
What you read up there was an extremely exaggerated version of what really happened, but it’s beautiful and you should appreciate that (I literally spent two hours sitting on the shitpot framing the whole thing, and it almost made me forget to clean up once I was done).
I guess you will have to wait for the next post to know what happened next, because I just discovered this HUGE pile of homework waiting very patiently on my desk…
Signing out with love (and a couple of pounds of tension),