Tell Me, What's Real?

When I was younger, I used to wonder why it was that my dad had left. I was young; naïve, my innocent mind tainted by hours spent in front of the TV watching beautiful Princesses in sparkling pink dresses dance with their Prince Charmings.

And all I could come up with was that he didn’t love me. That my small body, long blonde hair and shining blue eyes weren’t enough for him. That my innocent heart, kind nature and wobbly smile weren’t good enough to keep him around.

So I came up with a conclusion. If I was perfect, maybe he’d come back. Maybe if I made myself so utterly amazing, just like Belle, just like Ariel, no one would ever want to leave my side.

It was flawless. At least, I thought it was.

But I grew up. I chased after perfection blindly, hoping one day it would enlighten me and I’d be just how I wanted. But nothing happened. I was still me; dad was still gone.

And as old as I’ve grown, as much as I’ve changed, I still don’t know why he left. Did his heart hold no love for me and my sister? Did he take one look at my body, one look into my eyes, and leave?

But I have learnt one thing with age. People don’t leave because they don’t love you. Sure they do sometimes, but not always.

There are other reasons why people leave you.

Sometimes they leave because they have to.

Sometimes it’s out of their control.

And sometimes they leave just when everything’s okay.

****

It was silent, save for the soft breaths escaping both my and Jimmy’s mouths. I could hear the quiet whisper of the wind streaking through the leaves, and feel the crinkled grass as it lay against my back, where my shirt had ridden up.

I was on my back, my blue eyes staring into the sky, tracing the patterns the silvery clouds made through the blue sky. My heart was pained within my chest, beating heavily and hard, and occasionally, tears threatened to escape my eyes. But I was healing. My small, fragile heart was piecing itself together again, desperately trying to move on.

But I was still hurting. I was still desperately trying to hold on to the memories that seemed to be fleeing my mind, scattering now that she was gone. I just wanted to keep her image with me forever, always planted in my mind. I wanted to remember her every second of the way; it was what I needed to get myself through life. I wanted so badly to move on, but sometimes, moving on was the hardest thing in the world. Harder than remembering.

I was barely aware of the fingers that were running through my long hair, twirling strands and threading them through the grass. I was barely aware of the eyes that were on my face, the body that was so close to mine. I was so focused on remembering.

“Why is it so hard to remember?” I whispered, my eyes never leaving the sky above. I could feel the trickle of a salty tear running down my face, but I ignored it, my eyes fluttering shut for a second.

He caressed the side of my head with his long fingers, his eyes never leaving my face. “Sometimes it’s best just to let go,” he said quietly, turning away from me to tilt his head up to the sky.

I immediately felt guilty for bringing it up, remembering the tremor in his voice when he spoke to me four days ago. But I had to know. I had to know why. “Why?”

It was silent for a moment, and I realized that he was so close that I could feel his breath against my cheek when he turned to look at me. “Forgetting is so easy. It helps you heal the hurt, so that you can move on,” he murmured, the golden rays of the sun shining down upon his raven hair, causing it to glitter in the light.

“Moving on is hard,” I countered softly, turning my head to look out at the birds that sat beside us.

I could hear his sigh from beside me, and feel his fingers thread tighter around the thin strands of my hair. “Life’s hard,” he said quietly, his voice pained, “and full of pain, but you have to keep going. You have to know that there’s more to it than pain.”

I turned around to face him, the corners of my lips tugging up as my eyes met his. “Like what?”

He smiled slightly, running his fingers down the side of my face. I shivered faintly, but didn’t let it show. “Love,” he started, looking up at the sky, “Family. Friends. Everything that you don’t realize you’re missing until you haven’t got it.”

“Do you think she’s missing me?” I asked quietly, a small tear falling down my face.

He reached up to wipe it away, warmth running through my body as his fingers brushed against my skin. “Of course she is. And I know that my sister’s missing me too.”

I smiled slightly, subconsciously shuffling closer to his body, closer to the warmth. “How did you get so wise?” I laughed quietly, my blue eyes starting to twinkle as they looked into his.

He grinned, turning his head so that it was just inches away from mine. “I’m an insightful person,” he said playfully, his breath hitting my face.

I smiled at him ever so slightly, but it was there. And then silence was following us again, chasing us at every turn.

I became uncomfortable under his extended gaze, but I didn’t move away. I could feel the soft pitter-patter of my heart as it beat within my chest, and feel the warm blood flowing into my pale cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly, his voice so soft that it was almost a whisper. And I could see it in his eyes that he felt it too, not love but the strong need to be with the other. The strong need to know that they were and would always be there.

I was too scared to speak; my mouth wouldn’t open. So numbly, I nodded.

He leaned forwards slightly, his hand freezing from where it was entangled in my hair, his lips just inches from mine. For a moment he hesitated, waiting for my eyes to meet his, waiting for the spark to ignite before he pushed his soft lips those small centimeters further.

In a trance, I brought my hand up to cup his face, and he smiled against my lips, moving them against my own. The kiss was short and sweet, but left me so enchanted that I felt as though I was floating; flying.

He pulled away, his eyes still engraved into mine, his lips just a finger-length from my face. I could feel his breaths tickling my face, his eyes watching me carefully, clouded with emotions that I couldn’t read. But all I knew was that I felt happy in that moment; blissfully happy. And I was smiling again, no longer scared of his gaze but instead stuck in his trance.

Blushing, I bit my lip, pulling my hand away from his face. “You’re so perfect, Izzy,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

Perfect.

My mind went back to my dad, wondering if I had finally achieved what I’d so long sought after. But I knew I hadn’t. I knew I was the same. Only this time, in his arms, I truly believed I could be perfect.

So I smiled. I had no words to say, so instead, I brushed my lips against his, my smile widening at his shock and when he froze. He smiled at me, his blue eyes twinkling, running his long, pointed finger over my cheek before kissing me again, more passionately, only to pull away and leave me breathless.

“Why do you like me, Jimmy?” I asked, desperate for the answer. I wanted to know why anyone would want to kiss me, why anyone would want to touch me and hold me the way he did. Why anybody would want to stay with me.

He thought for a moment, a small smile forming on his face before he spoke his next words. “Because you’re Isabelle Thompson,” he started, his blue eyes twinkling. “And you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, inside and out.” My heart flew at his words, but he kept going. “Because you’re you, just so, utterly you that it sometimes shocks me.” He paused, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before they opened, sparkling as they looked at me. “Because your hair feels so soft to touch, because you feel so warm when I’m around you and because you’re the nicest and most innocent person I’ve ever talked to.”

He smiled at me, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “That’s why I like you. Is that good enough for you, Izzy?” he teased, his grin only growing.

I bit my lip nervously and slowly nodded, unable to express the way his words had made me feel so utterly beautiful and wanted. “Why do you like me, Isabelle?”

I thought for a moment, unsure of what to say, how to explain why I liked him. So I did what I could. I grabbed his hand, just like he’d done to me when we first met, and placed it over my chest. “Because you make my heart feel like it’s flying,” I whispered.

And that was enough. He knew.

He knew me more than anyone had ever known me, and for once, I wasn’t scared.

I was happy.