Jessica
A Yami no Matsuei drabble.
By Catie Wilcox.
Looking back, we never should have romanticized it. Looking back, we never should have made it out to be so glamorous. Looking back, suicide was something selfish that I probably never should have tried.
But it was also the best choice I ever made.
Holding him now, in a falsely warm apartment, in this artificial life, I feel no true regrets. I don't hate the flowers for blooming or the sun for setting, or the calendar for never moving between the months. The leaves could be paper and the soil could be dust, but I'll believe anything he tells me to.
I used to ask him if I was human, because his lies made me smile. Eventually, they became a routine, and they stopped altogether. How long before 'I love you' turns into something as insignificant as 'hello' or 'goodbye'?
Home is still such an alien word to my ears. My bed still feels so vacant. But I know that will change. Eventually. The arrival of newly packed suitcases, full with clothes, makes it disturbingly clear to me. Though, I don't know if I'm ready. Someone is finally here to stay, and I don't know what to say. So instead, I tighten my arms around him.
He understands. I knew he would. To me, he's perfection; he's wax. This is love. This is infatuation. We shared our very first crush.
Lips touch, hands hold, and fingers interlace, but our hearts have already melted together. From here on, we're inseparable.
A Yami no Matsuei drabble.
By Catie Wilcox.
Looking back, we never should have romanticized it. Looking back, we never should have made it out to be so glamorous. Looking back, suicide was something selfish that I probably never should have tried.
But it was also the best choice I ever made.
Holding him now, in a falsely warm apartment, in this artificial life, I feel no true regrets. I don't hate the flowers for blooming or the sun for setting, or the calendar for never moving between the months. The leaves could be paper and the soil could be dust, but I'll believe anything he tells me to.
I used to ask him if I was human, because his lies made me smile. Eventually, they became a routine, and they stopped altogether. How long before 'I love you' turns into something as insignificant as 'hello' or 'goodbye'?
Home is still such an alien word to my ears. My bed still feels so vacant. But I know that will change. Eventually. The arrival of newly packed suitcases, full with clothes, makes it disturbingly clear to me. Though, I don't know if I'm ready. Someone is finally here to stay, and I don't know what to say. So instead, I tighten my arms around him.
He understands. I knew he would. To me, he's perfection; he's wax. This is love. This is infatuation. We shared our very first crush.
Lips touch, hands hold, and fingers interlace, but our hearts have already melted together. From here on, we're inseparable.