Status: The story is not supposed to end here. I wrote this five years ago and I am now 17; quite unmotivated to pick up writing it again, but we will see. hold on!
Hearts Recycled But Never Saved
I am standing all alone.
Why am I here?
Suddenly, the thought emerged from my head, into a full-body panic. Who the hell am I? Why not do anything about all this? To make it stop? What's the point of life?
I hated to find myself with her face burnt on my eyelids. She could not possibly be the point of my life, since she was the biggest loss I had ever experienced.
She's gone, Jimmy. She won't come back. You made her leave, only you and nobody else.
But I love her.
I felt even more hatred and disgust to myself as making the confession in my mind. But it was simply and only the truth; I had loved her since the very first time ever catching a glimpse of her. I had enjoyed nothing more than her. Drowning in her eyes, her laughter clinging in my ears - yet nowadays echoing more spookily, like church bells at night. All the words she said, the feeling of her lips on mine, her scent, her soft hand streaking my cheek - yes, I had loved her more than anything. In fact, she had been everything to me.
But I could not control it, and all good things come to an end, and eventually there was the day when it all ended.
I didn't know how many days had passed since the loss of Whatsername. Perhaps I didn't want to know, perhaps I was working on forgetting. However, I didn't manage it. The memory of her was a plague. She came to visit me in my dreams, every single night. She was always the first name on my tongue, the face always inside my eyelids, the voice echoing in my ears. She was all my senses.
I groaned and attempted on getting to feet, but failed. By the third try, I heavily-breathing got up, leaning onto the brick wall behind me.
I didn't know where to go, as always these days, mornings, evenings and nights, I would just roam around the empty streets and boulevards, trying my best to not visit mine and Whatsername's favorite places. Though I could sometimes not resist the temptation.
I let my feet walk their own direction, as groping through my pockets for a cigarette. It was around 5 pm, since the main street I now wandered was so crowded.
Men in suits and tie, carrying briefcases, hurried towards the buses, trains and undergrounds. They knew where to go.
Children holding their parents' hands, probably just picked up from kindergarten, since they were carrying freshly made paintings and a few of them toys.
Workers climbing down from the ladders to the houses being renovated, smiling and patting each others' backs.
All these people, all of them knew. Where to go, and what to do.
I inhaled the cigarette smoke, and tried to channelize the despair that I felt. What was I about to do? There must be something I could do, both for my own good and for others'. Maybe I could somehow help.
I sneered at the idea of myself at a podium, talking about my youth on the streets. And perhaps lecturing about love, and my own experiences of it.
The sneer was washed out of my face; this was not even funny. And the daydream of a podium, and a speech was nothing but a silly waste of time.
I just couldn't.
Suddenly, the thought emerged from my head, into a full-body panic. Who the hell am I? Why not do anything about all this? To make it stop? What's the point of life?
I hated to find myself with her face burnt on my eyelids. She could not possibly be the point of my life, since she was the biggest loss I had ever experienced.
She's gone, Jimmy. She won't come back. You made her leave, only you and nobody else.
But I love her.
I felt even more hatred and disgust to myself as making the confession in my mind. But it was simply and only the truth; I had loved her since the very first time ever catching a glimpse of her. I had enjoyed nothing more than her. Drowning in her eyes, her laughter clinging in my ears - yet nowadays echoing more spookily, like church bells at night. All the words she said, the feeling of her lips on mine, her scent, her soft hand streaking my cheek - yes, I had loved her more than anything. In fact, she had been everything to me.
But I could not control it, and all good things come to an end, and eventually there was the day when it all ended.
I didn't know how many days had passed since the loss of Whatsername. Perhaps I didn't want to know, perhaps I was working on forgetting. However, I didn't manage it. The memory of her was a plague. She came to visit me in my dreams, every single night. She was always the first name on my tongue, the face always inside my eyelids, the voice echoing in my ears. She was all my senses.
I groaned and attempted on getting to feet, but failed. By the third try, I heavily-breathing got up, leaning onto the brick wall behind me.
I didn't know where to go, as always these days, mornings, evenings and nights, I would just roam around the empty streets and boulevards, trying my best to not visit mine and Whatsername's favorite places. Though I could sometimes not resist the temptation.
I let my feet walk their own direction, as groping through my pockets for a cigarette. It was around 5 pm, since the main street I now wandered was so crowded.
Men in suits and tie, carrying briefcases, hurried towards the buses, trains and undergrounds. They knew where to go.
Children holding their parents' hands, probably just picked up from kindergarten, since they were carrying freshly made paintings and a few of them toys.
Workers climbing down from the ladders to the houses being renovated, smiling and patting each others' backs.
All these people, all of them knew. Where to go, and what to do.
I inhaled the cigarette smoke, and tried to channelize the despair that I felt. What was I about to do? There must be something I could do, both for my own good and for others'. Maybe I could somehow help.
I sneered at the idea of myself at a podium, talking about my youth on the streets. And perhaps lecturing about love, and my own experiences of it.
The sneer was washed out of my face; this was not even funny. And the daydream of a podium, and a speech was nothing but a silly waste of time.
I just couldn't.