Stories happen with turning points and unexpected twists. There is only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It is as Tolstoy said; happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.
A story, as you all know, should always have a beginning, a middle, and an end.
It is simple, and it is concise, following a few simple rules—each outcome has a cause, and each cause has a reason. Whether the reason is logical or not depends entirely on the storyteller, though most would rationalize for that is but a part of us that is called human nature.
And so… I shall begin my story.
"Damon!"
"Damon."
He turned his attention from the blue sky, to a sight that never failed to bring a smile to his face. He stood still on the spot as the two girls approached him.
One was radiant and glorious, as if the sun herself had descended down to Earth. Proud and fiery—she brought warmth and fun to Damon's life.
"Come, Damon! We need to pick our outfits for the ball. We're going together after all!" She proclaimed, and Damon smirked when she proceeded to slap him on the arm and berating him for making her chasing after him.
The other was soft and gentle, yet strong and embracing; just like the wind. She was adaptable—cool and refreshing when one need a bit of cheer; comforting and warm when one felt down; strong and fierce when one need protection. Damon could not imagine a life without her.
"If you continue to harass him like that, he's not going to survive the next minute, let alone going to the ball." This other one remarked, a teasing smile on her face. Damon snaked his arm around her waist as they both shared a knowing grin.
He didn't miss the jealous look that Elena gave Bonnie.
Nor did he miss the triumphant look that the latter sent back.
He wasn't blind after all.
But he wanted to be.
And maybe, these simple, colorful yet monochrome days could continue.
Deep inside though, he fully knew that they couldn't.
Things just didn't work like that.
There, that was the beginning. Was that easy enough to follow? Three people—two girls and one boy, one object of affection, and thus a rivalry.
It is simple enough, and you have all seen it time and again though with different characters, and different variations.
It all continues as the same though…
I bet you know what's coming next.
But I'll tell you anyway.
He saw the two coming to him and he immediately knew what they want.
He waited though—waited for them to walk up to him and stare at him with the need for an answer in their eyes.
For once, he didn't deem them as any different. Fire and wind… they were the same in that fleeting moment.
They were asking him for something he cannot give.
He asked for time, and they gave it to him. Perhaps out of concern, or maybe they didn't want to pressure him.
More likely it was because they were scared too…
And now we've reached the climax of the story. And in every climax, there is a suspense, of which here is the question the romantic in us would inevitably ask;
"Who is he going to choose?"
You know the answer, don't you?
The one that would make everyone happy.
You know, yet you still want to read.
Very well, I will finish this story and sate your thirst.
I know that you want to read this, despite having read it so many, many times.
"I can't choose." He told them. "I just can't."
He had spent countless times thinking—both day and night. He had spent sleepless nights mulling over the question. He thought about it everywhere and in every breathe he took.
He knew that they knew how tired he was—he noticed the same blackness under their eyes. And he knew that they too had not been able to sleep.
They knew then, that he just couldn't choose.
He loved them both.
He was selfish.
He didn't want to let go of either.
He wanted both.
He spent a minute feeling disgusted with himself.
Why was he hurting them like this? He loved them, yet he was putting them through this pain. Why couldn't he choose? Why couldn't he just choose?
He'd hurt one yes, but at least that way, that one would be free, and the one whom he really wanted would be happy as well.
He was a coward—he didn't want to bear the burden of being the one who made either of the girls cry.
Then, the minute was over, and he didn't feel disgusted with himself anymore. Instead, he was surprised. Surprised and warm—wrapped up in the arms of not just one, but two.
"It's okay," they told him. "You don't need to choose. We're sorry for putting you through such pain…"
"It's okay," they went on. "We'll share. We can share; and we can keep doing things as we always have."
"We don't want to lose you," they reassured. "So, smile. Be happy. We'll be with you. Always."
He smiled, chest bursting with joy, and he hugged them both.
'It's okay,' he reassured himself. 'They don't hate me… everything's fine.'
And everything was.
Under that colorful, blue, yet monochrome sky.
It is a nice story, yes?
No?
Why?
Is it because he didn't end up with the one you want?
Hmmm….
Fine, here what really happened in the end.
He waved to the beautiful woman, who was now a mother to a beautiful girl of ten.
These days, when he waved, it meant goodbye.
He knew that although Elena came and met him every other week; she went home to a suspecting husband. And she comforted her husband, hugging him in bed, telling him that her love for Damon was a thing in the past, that she was just friends with Damon now.
She didn't feel anything for Damon now. And she always made it known to Damon, bringing her daughter along with her—like a reassurance to her husband.
Like a reminder for him.
For both of them really.
Damon didn't blame her—he knew how fire is. He had enjoyed its warmth for too long, and before he realized, it had turned scathing and hot. It was all his fault after all. He had taken her for granted.
At least Elena still met with him nowadays. At least he got to see her; at least they kept up the façade of being friends.
Damon hadn't seen Bonnie in years. The woman had gotten tired of waiting. And she'd uped and gone one day—leaving behind absolutely nothing but memories and faint warmth that showed that she had once been there.
The day they discovered she was gone, Damon had realized how cold and harsh the wind could be—leaving him broken and crushed, without a single back glance.
He stirred his coffee, looking at how its dark brown depths swirl like his soul. And then he looked up and smiled a bitter smile.
The world was colorful, yet monochrome; just like in his treasured memories.
Memories that were only treasured because they were all he had left.
Smiling bravely, waveringly, he picked up his cup and drank its bitter draught.
"Is that all?" You might ask.
Yes, it is all.