‹ Prequel: Skin and Bones
Status: Hiatus
Eat My Heart Out
Definition
He doesn't trust me. He's picking apart the sandwich I placed in front of him, probably checking if there's any “fat foods” in it.
I miss the old Frank. There was a time, only 2 or 3 months ago, it seems, where he'd shrug if the clerk had put mayo instead of dressing in his pita, or if it were diet or regular coke.
Maybe that's where we went wrong. Giving him what he'd been avoiding like the plague for 2 years might've been the wrong thing to do. Maybe it was too big a contrast. Perhaps it was too big a jump.
But then again, I went cold turkey. I stopped drinking and didn't go back. Well, I had one drink once, but there were days where Frank wouldn't eat lunch because he had a big, late breakfast.
Was that a sign of things going bad? I did the same, but maybe he had ulterior motives. Maybe he was hungry, even though he said he wasn't. I wasn't hungry, so maybe he thought it wrong to be hungry.
He's put his sandwich back together and has started to eat the crust. He'll start with that, then eat the salad and then leave with the middle parts of the slices of bread. Apparently, he likes the crust better than the middle part. I don't know. He used to hate crusts, but maybe he likes them now.
He's changed so much. I remember so many times where we'd lie in my room for an entire day and just cuddle and watch TV and not say a thing. And it wouldn't be awkward.
Now, everything is awkward.
We've both changed. So far, we've changed for the worse. Maybe this whole ordeal will bring us closer together in the end, or maybe it'll tear us apart. It might rip us from each other or it might just be a bump in the road.
We're not talking. We used to be able to tell each other everything and talk for hours about absolutely nothing, and now, we can't even say one word to each other.
I used to think that the purest definition of love was that if two people can sit in the same room for hours on end, not say a word to each other and still know that that room is the only place they'd ever want to be, then those two people truly love each other.
But now, after all this silence between Frank and I, I'm doubting that definition. I'm starting to doubt love. Well, at least our love.
I miss the old Frank. There was a time, only 2 or 3 months ago, it seems, where he'd shrug if the clerk had put mayo instead of dressing in his pita, or if it were diet or regular coke.
Maybe that's where we went wrong. Giving him what he'd been avoiding like the plague for 2 years might've been the wrong thing to do. Maybe it was too big a contrast. Perhaps it was too big a jump.
But then again, I went cold turkey. I stopped drinking and didn't go back. Well, I had one drink once, but there were days where Frank wouldn't eat lunch because he had a big, late breakfast.
Was that a sign of things going bad? I did the same, but maybe he had ulterior motives. Maybe he was hungry, even though he said he wasn't. I wasn't hungry, so maybe he thought it wrong to be hungry.
He's put his sandwich back together and has started to eat the crust. He'll start with that, then eat the salad and then leave with the middle parts of the slices of bread. Apparently, he likes the crust better than the middle part. I don't know. He used to hate crusts, but maybe he likes them now.
He's changed so much. I remember so many times where we'd lie in my room for an entire day and just cuddle and watch TV and not say a thing. And it wouldn't be awkward.
Now, everything is awkward.
We've both changed. So far, we've changed for the worse. Maybe this whole ordeal will bring us closer together in the end, or maybe it'll tear us apart. It might rip us from each other or it might just be a bump in the road.
We're not talking. We used to be able to tell each other everything and talk for hours about absolutely nothing, and now, we can't even say one word to each other.
I used to think that the purest definition of love was that if two people can sit in the same room for hours on end, not say a word to each other and still know that that room is the only place they'd ever want to be, then those two people truly love each other.
But now, after all this silence between Frank and I, I'm doubting that definition. I'm starting to doubt love. Well, at least our love.
♠ ♠ ♠
Sorry about the slow updates. No excuse.I hope to update again soon.
Also, I hope to finish a story (not this one) and start a new one soon.
In the meantime, I wrote a one-shot. =D
Ps. The credit for the definition of love in this chappy goes to a good friend of mine. He made me cry when he said it. I'm not able to write it the way he told it, so I probably (most likely) didn't make you cry, but it's beautiful nonetheless, I believe.