I had a phone call yesterday, stating that I am to pick up my new glasses whenever I am free.
That kept me hanging on for hours.
As of yesterday, I FINALLY (yes!) finished typing out for my father. It was heart-wrenching and boring, for the most part, and I came to realize it is that of these tasks that I am equipped with the basics. So thank you, my father and mother~
I think I had only a post for April?
I was going to write more, and I've had ideas swimming in the back of my head, just tickling to get onto a soft copy. That didn't make sense, did it now?
Well, I question the fact that if I ever made sense throughout my existence.
Ever since I saw my Twilight Saga Books got torn up right in front of my eyes, and I had to contribute to some of it, my heart started beating unusually. I know, because one of the two things I do frequently on a daily basis is listen to my own heartbeat. Literally, and metaphorically.
It wasn't nice, but it was a relief of some sort. I can't give it up completely.
But thinking of the painful memories it brought -- I get caught in a twist between two distinct feelings.
Wanting to let go, and unable to let go.
This is to you.
She had felt something troubling her heart for quite a while, but she never seemed to pinpoint on what it is. And that day it finally came true. Anguish washed over her feature, she took his hand with hers as usual, and came aboard the bus. They sat in a position as always, and she could feel her heart doubled in terms of beating.
I guess you could say she had always been this way. Always paranoid, always overthinking. But one can only guess what would happen on that fateful day.
It wasn't that she didn't want him with her, it was the exact opposite. Wasn't the fact that she didn't want to be on the bus heading back to her home -- it was something else.
As they arrived at the bus terminal, a tear dropped down from her left eye. She didn't want it to be this way. She hadn't planned on getting this far. Whatever happened before -- it broke her completely. He seemed to know all of this, but he hadn't had the strength to stop himself. But why didn't he? A question that flashed through her head millions of times.
Everyone saw it, but they didn't want to be a part of it. The anguish grew, and with every line engraved under her eyes, they avoided her. She is sure to be a trouble, they whispered. With her head down, he didn't follow behind her as always. She kept going forward and forward, avoiding all glances as the glances avoided her. He fell on his knees and choked up blood. Feeling helpless, he passed out in the midst of a crowd, with her losing sight. It didn't help that she couldn't see. The anguish finally found its peak, and he cried loudly for her; trying to hold himself by hugging his knees tightly to his chest. One may wonder why no one helped him -- it was because he wasn't there. Not for real, that is.
The girl with soft blue eyes finally turned back, dropped all her belongings, and ran to the place where she had lost him in the first place. She knew this was going to happen -- but what did happen? He had died so many years ago, yet everytime she came to the same place, she sensed him. He was begging for her. No, she had begged him, but he gave no response. With bloodshot eyes, he pulled the trigger to his head right in front of her eyes on the fateful day. And that fateful day replayed itself like a broken record, taunting her. Why didn't she stop him? Because she couldn't. She wouldn't. Because stopping him would be like telling him to live with his and her misery for the rest of his sick life. And she couldn't have that even though she suffered the most damages.
Dropping to her knees, she held her hands to her head and cried bitterly, as loud as the sound drowned out with the crowd chattering away. It was like she wasn't even there, but was she?
Only she knew.