|Once Upon a Time,
Author: Mr. 29A PM
Why must we smile? Because, once upon a time,Rated: Fiction K - English - Angst - Words: 777 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 3 - Published: 10-22-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2857848
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Once upon a time, she was the perfection itself personified before me. She still is. And I loved her. God, I loved her so much. The warm feeling I had towards her was unavoidable. Who would love her once they felt her comfort? The way she held you gently when you needed that human contact. The way she would kiss away your nightmares into a harmless, insensible childhood fantasies. The way she wiped away your tears made you forget why you were wasting your tears. Then there was that smile of hers that cannot even be compared to Mona Lisa's. There were also her laughter, her wits, her elegance, allure, fashion, intelligence, voice echoing again and again and again in your ears, mind, head and heart that you cannot tell the difference whether those three words that keeps repeating in you like a broken record is what she actually said or your wishful thinking.
That little question, the puzzle, curiosity then manifests in to you causing what it feels like an eternal migraine and before you know, you feel that your heart is aching as well. Despite the so much agony, you never have the courage to ask her for the truth. In fact, you didn't even had to ask since as the time past, those small yet gracious gestures you thought only belonged to you is gone and can be witnessed on the others and she, step by step, slowly drifts away. At this, at least your woeful headache is gone. But not the ache in your chest. It starts as a small soreness. Yet as you just watch her leaving you, that soreness grows into something bigger and voíla! There is a hole in your heart. There is no point going to the hospital, as that emptiness is not visible. Yet the pain is true. You can feel it throbbing every time you take a breath. The pain is so much, it is more a less a torture. It is never ending torture. By the time when the overwhelming sensation has numbed, she is gone. Away, never to be seen again. This is, again, your wishful thinking. You know that if you see her again, you might break down due to too much of everything. Anything.
Once she is gone, the wound does get sore times to times when you hear even her name or see anyone alike her on the street. When this passes, you at last will realise something has gone amiss – your heart. This knowledge you have newly gained doesn't really affect you; it cannot affect you. Except for the fact that you realise you'll never be able to love again. Except for the fact that this information just grazed though that hole in your chest making the hole larger. Then the pain is once again yours.
I have that pain. For so many years that I cannot even recall whom she was. Okay, that is a lie. But that lie is essential. That lie keeps me on the sane side, just. I know I need to let go. I do. Really. But that is beyond impossible. The memorise of her is simply out of the question to be eradicated. The memorise. It strangles me 24/7, I just wish it will just end it all. End to the pain. Just end. To all.
Do I still love her, you ask?
Yes, I do.
I love her. I love her, I adore her, I am fond of her, devoted to her, dote her, idolise her, worship, passion, ardor, desire, yearn, infatuate, loathe, detest, despise, dislike, abhor, execrate, repelled by, be unable to bear, find intolerable, recoil from, shrink from, abominate. I hate her. I hate, hate her. I hate her. I just, hate her. She is the fault. She is at fault.
It was her who made me loose my heart and now, my mind. I'm going crazy. Insane. Mad. Lunatic. Disturbed. It is all her fault.
I love her still.
Dreaming, hoping to see her happy once more, at least.
That is why I keep going.
That is why I keep smiling though there is no heart.
That is why I act sane though my mind is more twisted than that of a psychopath.
I have a little problem now though.
The mask I have been wearing so far worn out.
The things I don't want to be showing are being revealed.
It is inevitable.
So as a grand finale of this very boring story,
Could you, who have been kindly listening to the rant of a stranger, do me one last favor?