Long Gone

You can't long for something until it's gone, or until you see it slipping out of your grasp, and those words were suddenly the very definition of my life. It's too late to wish this was some sort of crush that fades over time, that years later has no meaning, and that is embarrassing to look back on.

It's not. It's simply not; and it's too perfect to let go of willingly.

Day after day was a repeat of the motions; we lived in the same house, and were forced into living by his schedule if we ever went out, but we chose not to acknowledge each other. Or he chose not to. I tried, maybe too hard. I wanted nothing but to be there for him, and he wouldn't let me in.

Our silences stopped being comfortable or tranquil. They were instead, stabbing, and made me feel guilty, while it's the quiet that was all we could experience. Maybe he needed his space, and within me I had to accept that I needed mine too when I didn't want to, but I don't think either of us can deny that this kind of silence wasn't normal.

Dodging each other every time skin grazes, crawling away like I'm a dark abyss that he needed to find his way out of, or much worse than that, when for me, he was the exit from what was void, without sense, eery, and what not. The light at the end of the tunnel.

Even my solution wants to run away. In what world is that right? The one hand that held mine and that made my heart bloom, can leave and let it wither? The spark in my stomach when we tasted each other's pain, elation, and everything in between, every message in between the lines; what was that? Was it really nothing? He doesn't want the comfort of a person who cares, more than any other? Am I a monster? Am I the one dancing with the Devil, without any chance of getting out of hell? Am I the murderer?

I already knew by experience how dreamlike love can be. I didn't used to, yet here I was with the chance. Still, that didn't prepare me for when it wasn't that way anymore. The fierceness of his touch and of his kiss, they were nothing but ghostly now. It's what I hold in my mind, it just as well be an insecure protection made up in my imagination, and as I did what I could to hold onto it, I was watching it shatter.

I wanted answers as to what we were becoming, but if it was bad I didn't want to believe it either. Right when we looked like we were at our peak, and that we have climbed so diligently high enough to construct a heaven of our own, they turned out to be mirages that would never have the ability to quench our thirst. We were in the desert the entire time, dying with miles stretched in between us as if we had nothing to do with each other.

What's the most agonizing of it all, is for me, if it's the end of us, it may be the end for me too. I've been relying on him that it came to mean my life. He himself was my mirage. How can I hide from what I need to if I don't have him? How can I make a difference for the life I'm living if he's gone?

He's not mere decoration. He's shelter. He was the place I accepted warmly as home, after I thought that I'd never feel at home again. Where he tied messy ponytails in my hair, revealing the face I couldn't show anybody else. Where he teased how messy it looked on my head when strands were missed down the sides of my ears, because he made it that way. Where we argued about the future; what we'd name our children, or where we'd have our wedding, with messy imagery that didn't match up in our heads. That mess was mine. We had our own un-orbited solar system. I was proud to call it mine.

But what now? What do I do from here? Messy is just a word in the dictionary. Or maybe it's only noticing how scattered the stars in the sky are without any appreciation. It's red wine on a white shirt that doesn't come out. It's a poem without rhyme or meaning, or a story where the ending comes first.

Messy isn't mine unless it's in my head. There, it's the kind of messy that happiness doesn't last, and that's that.

I should've stuck to the way I was in the past. The one that was happy to find warm food on a cold day. The one that was happy to breathe without struggle. The one that was happy to have legs to walk, but what happened? I'm the one that puts my heart out there as a bad investment and whose entire life feels over at an instant.

I miss when a cloud was just water vapor flying up above the ground. Not when it meant gloominess, trouble, and worry, or in the recent days, when everything is far from clear and everything is hard to understand.

I used to admire the fluff up in the sky, but it doesn't feel as beautiful as it looks. I found that out the hard way, and I've never knew better that life does have its way of pulling you along, without any detail of where it's going to head.

When I was so sure my answer was, and when I was so sure that I've found what's missing, everything gets confusing. Everything feels off. Putting my steps forward or backward calls for second guessing, and I've never understood like I do now, why we only wish to grow up until we get there.

I thought, when I was little, I wanted to see the outside world, but I know now that it's an ugly one. It's not magical or a fairly tale with happily ever afters. Hearts aren't golden, and we aren't princesses in constant sunlight.

What it is full of is expectations that can't be reached, injustice that can't be tamed, and mistakes that couldn't be changed even if you could go back in time because wisdom isn't enough to change what came.

Love and life end the same. It dies, but on my side, it hasn't. Not yet. Not so easily.

Carmine's across the room. I'm sitting on the opposite couch as if we first met; formal and as professional as possible. My comfort around him is fading, but there he was, his feet propped up on a foot rest, and his back relaxed into the cushions, eyes glued straight to the television like I'm not here.

Please, let me help you, is the phrase that's circled my mind as his insides are aching, that I seem to notice more than he does, I'm on your team, I'm not your enemy, but I don't say it. I'll never say it because he doesn't want me to. He wants me as I am, and have been, silent, so he can pretend I don't exist and so he can pretend everything is okay. I know it's not. It hasn't been for a week now. Both purple and red want to haunt us, but even so, didn't we make a promise?

Through it all, he still looks as ethereal as ever. My great grandparents before this law existed, according to my mom, apparently always said that the most important thing to do is to fall in love with the heart and not the face if you want the relationship to last, because the heart doesn't change but the face does, and I do agree for the long term circumstances. When it comes to the short term, I'm not so sure. After all, he looks exactly the same, stunning, but his heart did already change. Whatever his choice is, it's not me.

I don't want to give up, but I don't know how to keep going either. So all I do is keep my eyes ahead at the screen, intending to at least do something together even if it's not the same as we used to, but a reporter presents the news I've been trying to deny. If he chose this channel on purpose, I couldn't know, but how could it be accidental?

"This is a report from Lemniscate (LNT) entertainment. The dubbed-Anonymous Girl herself has disregarded the rumors of her connections with Carmine Jung in the near-past, but to officialize what's rumor, and what's not, it is accurate information to announce that there is nothing going on between them. Rather, Jung and his co-star Nica Lee have grew fond of each other after deepening their friendly bonds on set, and are now seeing each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. We hope that our fans will support them."

Am I a monster? Yes.

Am I the one dancing with the Devil without any chance of getting out of hell? Yes.

Am I the murderer? Yes.

In Carmine's mind, I am, and that's all that matters. That's the only way a person could move on so fast, and that doesn't feel pain seeing my suffering as he does it. I can cry and cry over having to leave him behind, but he's on with his life in less than a minute, full of a renewed happiness in a source I couldn't compete with.

To the man that wanted the ocean when I could only give the sky. To the man that I thought was the kind of better that let me sing off key in the middle of the mall, wear his clothes, and that I thought would show me off if he got the chance, but to the man I was wrong about. To the man I was never meant to be with, but that I couldn't help but feel glad that for a sheer moment it felt like we were. To the man that knew he needed courage to make mistakes in order to learn, but considered me to be one of them, - is this the time I say goodbye?

I stared at the glint in his eye with horror. It was scarier to look into than experiencing each and every one of my phobias at once, and I prayed that he'd get up, sit by me, and come up with a reason; an explanation for what was going on. Even an excuse would cut it.

"Riza, I can explain-." He did jolt up for a second and I thought that it's a possibility I got what I wished for, but he said nothing more even as a waited. Seeing it was too much to take. I ran from him, to whatever room I could find that was far enough away, so I couldn't see his face. He lost his opportunity to tell me what it meant, and I had to take it for what I've heard. From now on, I don't want to see him again, as much as he didn't want to see me.

Carmine, vivid red. The child with a red tint at his cheeks at birth and that was named in seven letters after that meaning. He grew up to be my world for a limited forever; put here, given to me to help me fall in love with red again, but also to despise it more. He's to who my lust belongs, but also my biggest enemy. He's my shot at love, but he's my shot at pain.

If he didn't let me in, I'm not going to let him in either.