I've been meaning to ask you this for a long time but… you were too, I don't know… far away.

Which I think is pretty ironic by the way, since you are standing only a few feet apart from me.

I've seen you before, and I never got the chance to talk to you. But something in my gut tells me that you know how to answer this thing that's been bugging me for quite a while.

You stand there like the chipper girl you are. So calm and collected but… you have this witty air about you that just drives people to you. And I am fully aware that the attention kind of drives you nuts.

But you entertain everybody with your kindness anyway. You sit there from across the room smiling like you didn't have a care in the world. You talk to this bunch of teenagers who barely even know you with their menial problems (which to be honest, I feel could be easily solved if only they weren't a bunch of cry-babies) and you would nod your head the way mothers do when they understood what their kids go through pretty well. I don't know. There's just something about you that is fascinatingly weird. You look kind of scary when you want to be, and yet strangers are drawn to you like a moth to a flame when they are feeling down the dumps.

I am kind of tempted to draw near you to see for myself. I wanted to know what makes you so… different. But I can see it in your eyes. You want to escape. You want to withdraw from everyone with the way you slightly shift your feet and the way your back tenses against the chair. Though you have really good acting skills, I know that your smile is forced. You keep listening… you just do. Even though the people you help don't even bother to ask how you are doing or how your day was or if you were okay… you just keep on listening.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who can see how much their burdens weigh you down though.

I take my eyes off your company for a while and chose to focus on the instrument before me. The piano, my best friend and spokesperson, because I'm not the kind of guy who can express my-self with words and this one does the talking for me.

I take in a small breath of air. Practice for the concert we've been preparing for would start about an hour away so I help myself for a little while before the others come. My fingers stroke over the keys in a smooth glissando, until they danced over a few notes and I am completely lost in my music.

The sound rings over the small music room turned counseling room (because of all those teens trying to win your attention for free advice). The voices from your company die down and I feel all eyes turn on me. I'm kind of a shy person but… my music gives me confidence, and I am protected from the paranoia of unwanted attention.

But I kind of felt a little conscious when I saw you look my way out of my peripheral vision. Your lips were pressed into a hard line, but there was a light in your eyes I rarely see when you looked at me. This makes me turn slightly red in the cheeks, so I close my eyes and just play my music. I'm going to pretend that I didn't see you… if that's okay.

Breathe in…

Breathe out…

"You play really good."

My fingers stop. The feeling of being stung in the butt by a wasp… that's how I am sort of feeling when I suddenly find you peering over my shoulder, watching my fingers freeze against the ebony keys. My voice gets stuck in my throat as I slowly meet your eyes. I feel my Adam's apple bob beneath my chin while I gulp quietly. Your lip pulls up in a slight smirk… it looks attractive by the way, the way you do that but, I'm not confident enough to tell you that.

"What was your name again?" you ask me.

"J-Jack," I say. It sounded loud in my ears, but it was only a whisper. I blush a little when you lean in because you didn't hear me well.

"What?" you ask me, your eyes fluttering involuntarily. Suddenly my throat feels a little dry.

"Jackson." I say louder this time. Now would you please go away so I can get back to my music?

Well, instead you stay. "Can you teach me how to play a few chords someday?"

Without thinking I nodded my head. Stupid.

But it was worth it when you smiled. This one was genuine, I could tell. I could tell because your eyes were shining like how light reflected against water and the upward lift at the corner of your lips looked kind of relaxed.

Wow, I am kind of good with words after all. If only I knew how to speak them out loud.

A little later you finally give me the privacy I wanted. You walk away, but I feel your eyes linger on me. Overwhelmed by the attention you were giving me, I had to flee the music room. I walk with hurried steps down the concrete stairs until the smell of the fresh evening air sends goose bumps on my skin. It's a little dark outside save the dim light of the lamp post from across the narrow road. I look at the stars hovering above a farm draped in the blue shadow of clouds, and that is the moment when I truly felt at peace with myself.

When I close my eyes I see your eyes.

"You okay?"

I flinch, and then I look over my shoulder to see you there standing, wearing that genuine smile again. My first thought was that I was kind of flattered that you came searching for me. But the bigger part of me panicked because… no one ever paid attention to me the way you did ever before.

Suddenly this stupid idea struck me. The excitement that came with it made my knees buckle a little coupled with the way I watched your pale blonde hair turn silver beneath the light. I had you to myself. We were alone. As frightening as this fact was to me, I knew this might be the only chance I could ever sort of talk with you again.

I needed to ask you this now. But I am a coward, Elsa.

"What is the use of a trashcan if garbage didn't exist?"

Stupid. Stupid Jack. Now you will think I am weird. Now you will think I've gone bonkers.

But yeah, I already am weird. And yeah, maybe I already am bonkers.

You blink, and then your brows lift and your eyes are confused. I let out a quiet sigh…. I knew it. You definitely think I have lost it.

But what you say kind of surprises me.

"Then the trashcan becomes useless, I guess," you reply, and then you quickly add, "or you can still use it, but you wouldn't call it a trashcan anymore."

I raise my brows. You have no idea how awestruck and baffled I am right now. You've entertained my question like it didn't sound weird. You answered me like my question was something you hear every day.

What exactly are you, Elsa?

"So… it means garbage is necessary for the trashcan to be useful then?"

You nod casually, "Yeah. Pretty much."

I blink, excitement bubbling within my gut though it doesn't show. "People kept wishing garbage didn't exist though."

You smirk and walk towards me until you were by my side, watching the faint stars with me.

"People make the garbage though," you reply solemnly. Your response depresses me… like, really depresses me. And you see it.

"You're right." I say. My fists clench within the sanctuary of my pockets.

"That's why they made a trashcan," you continue. "That way garbage has its place, and the trashcan becomes useful."

Great. We were speaking in metaphors.

I look at you, and you are wearing that smile again. It makes my heart beat a little faster than it normally does. You adjust your hair as you let out a breath. I know you can tell that something's wrong with me. Everyone can tell, actually. I talk too quietly, I express anger through playing video games, and I see the world a little differently than everybody does. And did I mention I talk too quietly? Yeah, I did, apparently.

"But you know…" you went on, surprising me a little when you break the silence. "Garbage is garbage if you leave it be. Sometimes stuff we throw away deserves better than being the reason for a trashcan's existence."

I remain silent. I agree with you. I nod.

"It's just that… people never bothered to look beyond the beyond," you say. "Admit it or not, we are just so superficial. And selfish. Once we are fed up with something, we throw it away. We never bothered to think if what we throw away had some other use, or perhaps had some higher purpose. We conclude a thing's use based on its outward design. We don't see that a broken umbrella could have been metal-worked into Christmas Tree, or that pieces of broken glass could have been decorations for an art piece. If the things we possess don't do the work we expected it to do, we throw them away, because these don't satisfy our wants, our needs."

You turn your head to look at me, understanding in your eyes. It crashes down on me like an avalanche at how quickly you've deciphered me. You've read through the riddle of my question like you knew all the answers of the world.

What exactly are you Elsa?

"Some garbage deserve a little more than just some trashcan,"

My brows scrunch together. My eyes find leisure staring at my feet. My fists are clenched together in a knuckle white grip. My breathing is a little labored, and I feel a stinging at my eyes.

Crap! I can't cry. I don't cry! I can't look like this in front of you? What the—

"Do you want to talk about what's bothering you Jack?" You ask me. There is concern in your eyes, and the sincerity in them makes me want to flee and hit something with a bat or something.

No. "Okay."

See how you make me betray my thoughts Elsa?

Soon we were back inside the music/"counseling" room. People probably moved to another area since it was just me and you in here right now. The wooden floors shined like caramel gold, mocking my currently blue mood (I seriously need to take up writing poetry or stuff, because I think I am getting the hang of these colorfully worded things). My eyes lingered on the piano, my best friend and spokesperson, and suddenly you knew that if we sat somewhere close to it, I'd muster up the confidence to face you or something.

We walk towards the bench beside it in silence until we've fully made ourselves comfortable. You then look at me and I feel a little guilty because I have this vague idea that you're tired of addressing to people's needs all day to even bother with me. (I am kind of surprised that I am in this situation anyway. I don't do this. I never do. That's why I am so freaking nervous right now)

"Jack,"

I flinch, "yeah?"

"What's wrong?"

The words are stuck in my throat. What do you think Elsa? What do you think is wrong with me?

But instead of getting impatient with me, you smile. "I've noticed this for a while. Correct me if I am wrong… but you strike me as a person who wants to express himself but struggles to do so."

Yes. I wanted to say yes. But words have left me.

"I understand," you say. "I'm going to let you speak. I won't butt in."

I still can't speak Elsa. The words are still stuck in my throat. I wanted to tell you that speaking isn't my thing. I wanted to tell you that confiding in you sounds cheesy and unmanly and just so uncharacteristic of me and that I don't want to… but I want to because you are looking at me like that and you are just this kind of person who somehow has earned my trust and… it's just so complicated, okay? I'm not good at this. Please, help me out.

"I promise," you say. "You can try. I won't force you. But I am giving you this one chance to try."

My eyes sting…. I've never been this… overwhelmed.

Because no one ever bothered to let me try. No one. Only you Elsa Arendelle… only you…

And so I speak. My voice is so quiet; it shows the evidence of how seldom I spoke at all. I tell you how I feel so alone in my own home. I tell you how I wanted my father to understand me, how much I wanted to meet his expectations but couldn't because I was too cowardly. I tell you my frustration over how understanding he is, and how I could not express my potential because I was scared no one would understand. I tell you how I wanted to be heard so much so badly, yet the words often die in my throat. I tell you how I've been bullied for being quiet. I tell you how I was sick when I was a baby. I tell you how I scream inwardly every day, seeing the chaos everywhere, of how I see the things other people don't see, but could not tell them. I tell you about how much I wanted to tell them of the hope I have in me so badly yet couldn't because sometimes I lose faith myself. And most of all, I tell you how useless I feel, like garbage, who's place belongs in a trashcan where it solely belongs.

And all the while, for the first time in my life I experience a person witnessing my tears of frustration. I do not sob. My voice just breaks occasionally. I see in your eyes how you thought me brave. My hands slightly tremble as I wipe the clammy skin on the fabric of my pants. I do not look at your eyes, but I know your eyes try to meet mine.

You kept your promise. You just listened.

"… I don't know what to do…" I pause, then amended, "No… I do know what to do. I just don't know how…"

You let out a long breath. You look wary, and I feel guilty. Now another burden you are not supposed to carry is weighed upon your shoulders. But it's also your fault Elsa… you choose to listen even when no one bothers listening to you.

I shouldn't have bothered. Now you're making me feel guilty. I should have kept my mouth shut.

And you surprise me again by smiling, "Have you told anyone this before?"

I shake my head, "No."

"Then I'm glad you told me," you say, genuinely grateful. "And I want to thank you for trusting me enough to listen."

Who are you really, Elsa Arendelle?

"Nothing is ever easy," you say. "Even people who are good at expressing themselves fail at one area too. I would usually tell people to break their paradigm of thought… but I already know that you know what to do."

"Yeah,"

"The thing is, based from what you've said… you don't trust the one you place your hope in enough." You say frankly. "You hold yourself back. You are aware of that too. You keep yourself hidden and it's what's holding you back. You don't allow yourself to be helped… until now."

You place a hand on my shoulder and meet my eyes. I dared myself to meet yours… and I've never seen anything more warm, or more caring, or more understanding.

Only you Elsa Arendelle… only you.

"You are not garbage, Jack." You say it like a declaration. You say it with certainty that it makes me want to believe you. And I do. "You may find it hard to speak with words, but there are people who can understand you the way you do music. What you deem useless has cheered the girls up while they spoke with me. Your music encouraged them to let their weakness out freely."

When I turn my head away, you gently touch my cheek in a solemn manner, and there is a calm happiness in your eyes.

"What you see as ugly is beautiful to others. But the thing is… although you know what's wrong with you, you are afraid of hearing it from other people. The paranoia of being misunderstood is understandable but… that's the truth. There will always be people who will think that the hope we have in us is foolish. But… it's what kept you together, right? It's what kept you sane all these years. It's what gave you the ability to see what others don't see. To think about garbage and trashcans and all that deep stuff."

You slightly chuckle as you edge away in respect of my personal space. I let out a breath of relief.

"You're special Jack. You see beyond the beyond. It's a beautiful gift you have." You tell me, and all wariness is gone replaced by an energy that is so calm yet bright that… I don't know. You are turning me into a poet, Elsa.

"I… I…"

"You just have to decide to appreciate the gift you have even more. All you see is what you don't have… what you can't do. But look to the grace given you… and the rest? The things you wish you could do… if you asked, if you nurtured what you have in all faithfulness, in all perseverance, things like communication barriers can be overcome… you have to try the way you tried now. And if you fail, then try again. And if you fail, then try again. And if you fail again, then keep trying until you get it right. And know that I will always have your back. Because you're not alone Jack. I'm here for you."

I stare at you in awed silence. People like you are rare, Elsa. So few ever bother to listen. So few ever bother to be there for another person. So few ever bother being selfless. So few ever bother risking betrayal, misjudgment, rejection, and all those other things that involved dying to self. You were willing to do that, and I admit you are kind of a little foolish for doing so. You deserve to rest a bit, to have some time for yourself. You deserve something better than to help me carry my own menial burden.

If I was as brave as you, I wouldn't have bothered telling you this.

"What if I'm not there for you?" I challenge you. "Would you still want to be here for me anyway?"

You are slightly caught off guard, but then you respond by saying, "I'll still be there for you, until I know when not to be there for you. You are a big boy, Jack. I'm just helping you help yourself. Everyone needs one. Even me."

You are a mystery, Elsa Arendelle.

"Where do you place your hope in? Who helps you help yourself?"

And you smile. And you are so beautiful. And you are so understanding. And you are so caring. And perhaps maybe I might fall in love with that smile one day. I don't know.

"Beyond the beyond," you answer. "Beyond the beyond."

… … …

A/N: Okay, this one is another story inspired by a real life situation. Most of the events that happened here, from the dialogue and such are inspired by a conversation I had with this one freshman lad when we were practicing for a mini-concert for our organization. The kid was a gamer, and a total introvert, and he best expressed himself in music and riddles. I've never met anyone who thought as deeply as this kid and he is one of the many people who struggle with their personalities, wanting to express themselves, wanting to be heard, but were never given the chance to. There's this sickening truth that the competitive people are the ones who press on in life, but those who reach the top never bother reaching out for people left behind. Some people may be content living in the shadows, but some try to break free but struggle to. And they might not say it, but some are silently crying out for help.

So if you know someone struggling with something, yet doesn't know how to express it, make sure to remind them that they are loved, that someone cares for them, that someone is willing to spare a few minutes to listen. Who knows, you might change a life in the process.

I just thought that this real life situation would incorporate well in a fictional world involving Jack and Elsa. Although Jack seems OOC here, I imagine them having a conversation something like this. Jack maybe a bit childish and mischievous but I think he's the type of person who ponders a lot. And Elsa, obviously, is one to ponder about many things too.

I hope you like this guys. It isn't much, but I just wanted to get this writing done because I felt led to. Bye for now.

… … …

May the Fortress be with you…