To The One That Matters
There was an open mic.
Harsh spotlight
Imaginary curtains up
The stage empty, matching the feeling in his chest for the past months. The place, bustling much like the words fighting to escape his mind
his heart
his lips…
Words he's failed to say when it mattered most, now left nothing but an echo reverberating on the hollows of his chest.
It was Beka who introduced him to this. To this creative coping mechanism. He encouraged him to piece his life together through words, where Otabek found his solace in music. He taught him, how to be honest to himself. To not be afraid to bare the story he has always been afraid to tell, to stop swallowing that apology to yourself, but instead accept that you had flaws and stop apologizing for them. To realize that admittance is the first step to growth. To find out that there are people who'd genuinely listen, and unknowingly you saved, because you've voiced exactly what they're too afraid to say, much like you are. But for a moment you aren't that coward hiding behind the mask of indifference and anger, no, you are an inspiration. A hero armed only with words, and talent to string them nicely together.
Only now, you lost your muse. And this is your only hope of getting him back.
So you steel yourself, and brave the crowd.
People here know you not by your name, but by your story. And judgments are passed much like constructive criticisms. Some will be sympathetic to your plight, but there are some who'd fuel the agony, and you'd all see this through their eyes. But hey, you'd never really please everyone, and there's only one who truly matters.
So here goes nothing, yet you still hope, that your words would find their way to him.
"This piece is for the one I made a mistake of leaving. This is quite long, and uncoordinated so bear with me." Yuri started jokingly, a slight tremble on his voice.
A couple of cheers and hoots erupted from various sides of the room, and it made the blond's lips curl a bit before clearing his throat. This is an odd choice of piece for him, and most people here know that.
"I was never a brave person to begin with." He started, voice strong and determined. "And you of all people know that. So when you offered your outstretched hand, and asked me to soar with you, I did it with my eyes closed.
When you told me I was missing a lot of things in my life, I reluctantly opened my eyes and peered through the spaces between your fingers that I used to hide myself with. The sight that greeted me was your gentle smile, and I knew I'd be all right.
When you took me swimming for the first time, you pushed me to the deep parts of the water not long after you told me you'd never let me drown. I never told you I never learned how to swim. We left that beach with me knowing how to keep my head afloat. Because there will be plenty beaches and pools, and the water will always try to swallow me down, and you won't always be there to hold my hand. But thanks to you, I won't be sinking at the bottom.
When we went clubbing after a competition when I was eighteen, you took me to your hotel room and played the song I'd rather be caught dead than dance to. You learned tango for me and my rightfully intoxicated self indulged on something I've always secretly wanted to do, but never did because it's too sensual, too unlike me, too close, too trusting, too complicated, too many reasons to not find time, or the right partner. I was too caught up in the dance that I never realized that the laughter bubbling in my chest is not imaginary; that the last time I heard that laughter was before my father's funeral, before my own mother became a stranger to me. And you brought it back.
Since then I didn't turn back, you took me to adventures I never dared venture before. You taught me things I would only long to know, and turned me to something I'd only dream of being. Remember the time you swooped me in your roaring death-trap vehicle? I'm not a damsel, but I was in distress. You told me I had eyes of a soldier. I didn't know what you saw in me to say that, and until now, I'd lay awake at night counting stars, thinking of reasons why you'd offer yourself to me. Sometimes I'd be selfish and think it's only because you have a hero complex, and this child is lost and in need of saving. But I know you better, and you never really made me feel that way. You offered me camaraderie, and faced the battle beside me, fought me like I was the best opponent in the field. You let me stand on my own feet, regardless of how shaky they are, and you gave me a choice when the world deemed itself rightful enough to make decisions for me.
For the longest time the ice was my mistress, and I was only beautiful when I'm with her. And you were the hurricane that swept away the chill, your warm embraces thawing the walls I have built around myself. You tore my defenses and peeled layers and layers of insecurity, and I wondered how long will it take you to realize that my core is no different from my damaged façade?
You told me once I have an obsession with clocks, I cannot tell you I've been secretly counting on the second that you will leave me. I was too caught up on keeping tabs of the hours you've stuck with me that I failed to see that day you settled in my life, became comfortable on that old battered couch in my apartment, with my head resting on the curve of your neck, as we watched that movie I certainly didn't have before, but I remember that you mentioned you love it once.
You wormed your way in to domesticity, and it scared me how I wanted it. How I wanted it to be with you, how I wanted this to be forever. But you never promised to stay, and if anything I can't stay. You know better than to make promises you can't keep, and I know better than to remain in one place. If there's anything I'm good at, it's running away. At age five, there was a sprint competition in our school; you always told me I've always been competitive but I didn't win that competition because I wasn't fast enough, my legs weren't quick enough, I wasn't strong enough, so since then I've been trying to perfect my running and I haven't stopped until you came along. But I don't want you to be just a stopover, you deserve better than be a fresh drink of water under a cool shade. When my father died, my mother and I tried to outrun each other, until we figured that we're best at running opposite of the other. I can't risk having us run away from each other when we get bored under that shady tree, or when things get out of control. I can't have you build something for me, something I can't run away from, something permanent. Permanence sounded like yielding control, and I hate giving up control. I was blinded to see that being with you was my choice. I once again listened to the world, and I was more scared than angry when they told me you've finally leashed me.
When you asked me to stay, it sound so promising and beautiful and imperfect, I love it! But deep in my bones I know something is bound to go wrong. I saw this as an opportunity to rein my life. For the first time I told you no, and did what I do best.
For the first time I tasted regret in my mouth, and started choking down apologies once again, and wished that I could take it all back, and wish I wasn't a coward who walked away, and wish that I've long hidden the clocks to stop counting time, and wish that I realized soon that you can be my finish line, and wish I should have jumped in to that abyss with you, and wish that I'd known earlier that you're not my parents who has unintentionally walked out my life or anyone who did for that matter, and wish that I should have tried everything I denied myself to, and wish I should have told you I love you every chance I get, and wish that I should have long realized that…
You aren't the gentleman that finally tamed the Russian tiger,
You're a savage Otabek, and you freed my heart
And all I did was break yours."
A round of applause greeted the overwhelmed skater, but he heard none of that, only the rush and pounding on his ears and chest; he was trying to catch his breath and gather his messed up emotions before fleeing. But when he looked up, familiar coffee coloured eyes were staring back at him and it was like, the slowest curtain fall.