Hey guys, my computer messed up and I ended up deleting my first story. Since a sequel is pointless without a prequel, I deleted that too. Lo siento. I am very pissed.
A chance.
A chance, just like a love letter. This is what you had said.
A chance, just like a love letter.
Just like a love letter...
October 12
The coffin was beautiful. It was white and shiny, specially cleaned for the beloved residing in the morbid pureness. In the coffin, you lay serenely in it, your clasped cold hands stiff and tired, loosely clutching a tomato sewn with love. Underneath, white scars slept quietly where blood once screamed. A white carnation rested like an innocent child in your soft brown locks, lost their shine, yet still glowing with a slight trace of your ghostly facade. Your face shone tranquility under the soft sunlight stroking your face with long tender arms through the curtain of young tree branches. All together, you were just beautiful. All together, you were a wasted piece of work, abandoned by the hands of your creator, life, a stone beauty residing in loneliness trapped by the colour of purity.
Ah, loneliness...
I did not know this man.
I thought I knew this feeling...
I do not know this man...!
So well that I thought I could sense it from afar.
I never knew this man...!
But how is that that I never knew?
You were supposed to laugh, dance, play the guitar, say thank you to the Sun, pick tomatoes, so many other things...
How long?
You weren't supposed to play with knives and fire and sleep in coffin!
How long?
You weren't supposed to draw blood...!
Antonio, how long have you been lying?
You weren't supposed to look at me with glazed eyes and a sad smile!
Antonio...
Why hadn't I...?
Ti amo.
For a very long time, I had secretly harboured love for you. I am being straightforward; I am tired of roundabout stuff. I just want it all out. I LOVE you.
I thought I knew all there is to be known about you. I thought you could take my insults. I thought you would always smile. I thought you would always laugh.
I thought I knew you.
In fact, I never knew you.
I was pushing you to the edge with everything I said, in my own useless attempt to conceal my feelings. I thought you realized. I thought you realized I loved you. I thought you realized.
I never knew... What I said, they wore you down, and tore your soul, like small caterpillars on big green leaves. You showed signs. Your smiles were tired. Your laughter was slightly softer. You would often stare out of the window, your eyes a lost pair of gems, searching for an answer to a question you did not ask. Those were sure signs. And I chose, I chose, to ignore them.
It never crossed my mind you were lonely. You were bubbly, you were fun. You spoke of passion, and knew of gratitude. Why would your friends not want you?
I never knew, until the night you decided to brutally slice yourself open.
You had called in that night, sounding like you always was; idiotic, happy. What you said, it disturbed me.
" Hello?"
"Hey, Lovino~"
"What's up you bastard."
" I cut myself and there is red! I think I have tomato in my arms! Do you want to help me get them out? I will share~"
I needed to listen no more. Immediately, I went to your house. What did I expect? No one. However, there were the trails of dark "tomato juice" following eagerly into the tomato farm. What did I do? I followed as well.
I really wished I was earlier; I really wished I didn't see what I saw. I really wished, I had spent more time with you picking tomatoes, as I held you in my arms and felt your dying warmth creep onto my sweaty skin. You were smiling and your eyes were sad yet happy, and the large gash on your torso screamed blood. You was crying and chuckling childishly at the same time. I started to cry as well. Damn, did I want to keep it in!
" Look, Lovi, the tomatoes are here." You smiled through your facade and said. " Pity they aren't meant for me..." Yes, indeed they weren't. They were meant to be sold to provide an income for your large family scattered in many parts of Spain.
I propped you against my torso and watched the tomatoes with you. They were red and silent and watching, glowing soft pink in the serene moonlight. I couldn't stop crying. You couldn't stop smiling. Even when your eyes grew dry, your smile remained.
Somehow, as I gently brushed your eyes close, I knew, somehow, you were breaking your facade.
Berwald carried the coffin and buried his handiwork ,specially made with care to house my love, under your favourite tree, which overlooked your tomato farm.
" May the tomatoes watch you," I breathed, as I watched Berwald's massive back clad in thick blue bend and rise when he buried you, " and may they belong to you."
Once upon a time, I had stood under that tree, clutching a love letter I wrote especially for you. You were happily working on your farm, running about watering your beloved tomato plants. I wanted to give that letter to you... Throw it down as a paper airplane, maybe? I have no courage to. I really wanted to give... yet, I was afraid... of what? Rejection? Embarrassment? Shyness? I really don't know.
The wind picked up its pace, and wrenched the letter from my grasp. I expected it to carry the letter down to the fields, but it swept the letter away in the other direction. I made a dart and jumped, my hand barely touching the letter. I could only watch as the letter, my chance, flitted gracefully away from my sight.
My hard work...
My love letter...
My chance...
Gone.
As I look again at the tomatoes, I noticed that they were plump and red and healthy, singing their gratitude for your love and care.
Like you, they felt that they had only you to rely on, just like how you felt that they were the only things that loved and repaid you.
I turned, and let lost myself to the smell of tomato sauce and tears on Berwald's uniform.
And as I returned home, the beeping alarm clock showed an all familiar date that neither you nor I forgot.
Happy Birthday, I wished quietly to the red tomatoes sitting in the basket you weaved. Happy October 12.
A year has passed now. Yet, I haven't let go of you. I regretted every insult I spat at you, despite that being my way of declaring love. Once again, I have come to visit you under this great tree. I can see that the tomatoes are well cared for, because I have been taking care of them. Have they been good? Have they kept you happy? Have they gave you company?
In my hand is now a love letter. The wind hasn't come yet. So I sit down and wait. I waited till the wind came. Then I let go.
The love letter is now floating away to paradise. I hope it reaches you, yet I hope it doesn't reach you, because I don't deserve you. As I watch the letter float away, I let a tear fall.
Dear Antonio, are you happy up there with your tomatoes? Have you gotten the tomatoes out of your arms yet?
Are they yours yet?
A chance.
A chance, just like a love letter. This is what you had said.
A chance, just like a love letter.
Just like a love letter...
I have wasted my first love letter, my first chance.
You could have been alive.
I regret it.
And as I release the paper plane, I will learn to let go, and smile at the green grass and great tree and the tomatoes...
And, I will also learn to let go, and move on in life, always remembering to smile at your grave, and be grateful to the Sun with you.
Antonio, my love, ti amo.