Never Lego

The heart is our body's major organ that is essential to live. Without it there would be no life coursing through our veins, there would be no blood flowing through our bodies, there would be no breath within us. We'd lose consciousness; we'd be lifeless, incompetent; we'd be dead and six feet under. But, what if the heart wasn't the only thing that kept us breathing? What if there was something else that gave life meaning, that kept you waking up? Over the past years I've learned that there is indeed another source of life. There's something else that keeps me breathing, that keeps my heart beating. There's something else keeping me alive. Scientists would disagree with my new found theory, but if they had to walk a mile in my shoes they'd understand. If they had to endure seven years and counting of feeling barely alive, and if they knew how hard it was to keep waking up every morning. They'd understand my theory perfectly.

Sometimes things unexpectedly show up in your life and You don first you think nothing of it until they become an important part of your life. You don't intentionally become attached, so addicted that you can hardly last a day, an hour, a minute, a second without that particular thing. It just happens. And before you know it that thing becomes a daily routine, a drug that you can't get enough of. That thing becomes the very reason for your existence, the very reason that you live, the reason that you face each and every day despite how hard it may be. That thing becomes your oxygen, and if it is suddenly taken out of your life, life becomes meaningless. You began to feel barely alive, because without oxygen you cannot breath; you can't function. You become a hollow shell. There's a hole in your chest sucking the last bit of life that you possess out of your body so that you're a nothing. The hole is gradually increasing with each breath that you take until it fully consumes you. It's an emptiness, an indescribable feeling eating away at you casually luring you in to an abyss of nothing but emptiness and the feeling of loneliness, an emptiness that is slowly, but surely killing you.

Your heart is still steadily beating in your chest, but you feel dead. You're barely holding on, because you're missing that piece that made life that much better. Days become longer, minutes seem to drag on, and time has turned against you leaving you to suffocate in your misery. Then you begin to ask yourself 'what's the point' when the life is being absorbed from your frail body. So, in conclusion the heart isn't the only thing that is pumping life into our bodies. Our bodies need that someone, that something that keeps us breathing in order to feel completely alive, to feel whole again. Or, maybe that's just me.

It was eleven years ago when he waltzed into my life without a care in the world. The For Sale sign had been up for months in front of that gray one-story house next door to mine before the Armstrong family finally bought it. My mother, being one of the most kindhearted people I know, just had to go and greet the new neighbors and make them feel welcomed in a new, foreign city. So, my mother ended up inviting the Armstrong family over to our place for dinner. They had arrived before my mother was finished cooking. So the 'grown-ups' sat in the kitchen to talk, and Mrs. Armstrong volunteered to help my mother finish preparing dinner. The Armstrongs had a four year-old son named Kent. My mother sent Kent and I up to my room to play until dinner was ready. She wanted me to share my toys with him. She wanted me to share my toys with a four year-old! I was never one for sharing especially with babies. All they did was cry, get in the way, and break things! That's what I told my mother and she threatened to make me miss dessert. She made peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice-cream--my favorite. For a moment I considered risking it, but in the end I decided that it wasn't worth it. So, I reluctantly had to share my toys with a 'stupid four year-old'. I remember his small, plump fingers immediately reaching out for my favorite green dinosaur as we entered my room. Quickly, I snatched it from his hands and scolded him. "I'm the green dinosaur! You can be the yellow one!" I remember shouting at him and his wide, cloudy blueish gray eyes looked up at me, water building up in them. "You're too small to do anything." I grumbled at the four year-old. "You're just a baby and all babies do is cry." He quickly changed his composure, wiping at his eyes and shaking his head at me. "Nuh huh, Im a big boy." I remember his soft voice saying rather confidently. I remember a smile spreading across my lips as he continued to wipe at his eyes. I challenged him to help me build a city around my room out of Legos to prove that he was a 'big boy' as he had proclaimed he was.

We didn't get to finish the Lego city that night, because dinner was ready and we had to put everything away--my mother hated when I left toys laying around. He came back plenty of times after that though, and we'd finally completed the Lego city, covering my entire room with the blocks that you could barely move around--yeah, I had that many Legos. My mother made us put it all up though. After that I thought he wasn't so bad for a four year-old, and I got to boss him around. I was more than happy to have him over more often. We'd mostly play at my house, because I had more toys and my toys were way cooler than his. My 'big kid' friends made fun of me for playing with a 'baby'. I ignored them mostly, sometimes they'd get to me causing me to yell at the four year-old, resulting in him crying. As I watched him cry I'd immediately feel bad, so I apologized--mostly because I hated cry-babies--and everything was better until it happened again. As days grew old and we grew up I found playing with Kent to be one of my favorite things--besides my mom's peach cobbler and homemade ice-cream of course. Kent and I began doing everything together and we were becoming inseparable. I decided he was way cooler than my 'big kid' friends even if he was a stupid four year-old and cried way too much for my liking. I looked forward to every day because I got to see him. I even woke up early so I could spend more time with him. Even though we were young he was my favorite fix, and even though I was three when I lost my dad and vaguely remember him, it still hurt and Kent helped fill that void.

Then they took him from me.

Seven years ago they stole him from my life without a single word. He disappeared from my life without a warning. It felt like he wasn't even here at all, like he was a dream to good to be true, but the pictures tell me otherwise. I cried a lot when he left. I won't admit that to anyone, because I don't cry. I'm not a baby, and I'm definitely not a girl. I started to drift away from the few friends that I still had, and I even shut my own mother out. I already lost my father, now I'd lost the only thing that made life bearable. I still had my mother, but it just wasn't enough. It wasn't the same. I needed that stupid four year- old who had become a very important part of my life. He was reason I looked forward to each and every day.

What hurts the most is that he didn't even say goodbye. He never even mentioned that he as moving away. He left me with crushed hopes of entering middle school together, never going to any of the sporting events or lame dances and instead going to my house to watch movies and eat junk food; of going to high school and going to prom together with our beautiful dates. He left me with crushed hopes of being friends forever. I was mad at him for leaving me behind; alone and broken but I couldn't stay mad at him forever and it wasn't his fault. His parents stole him from me. I know we were so young, but he meant more to me than he probably should have.

Thoughts of Kent plagued my mind constantly. I didn't like it, it hurt so fucking much, and I just wanted to forget. I wanted to forget those wide, smoky, almost gray eyes that looked up at me with so much innocence in them, that filled with tears whenever I yelled at him or snatched something from his small, plump fingers. I wanted to forget that smile, that laugh--that was more like a giggle--that belonged to a child, because all I know is four to seven year-old Kent. I want to forget that day the house next door became occupied and was no longer vacant. I want to forget the bike rides, the park adventures, the sleepovers, the mischievous events, the innocence. I want to forget it all, because it only led to questions. Where was Kent now? What was he doing at this exact moment? Did he wonder about me? Does he even remember me? Does he have a new best friend? Does he have a girlfriend? How does he even look now? How has he changed? I shake my head to as if the thoughts would fall out of my head, but they only got worse.

This hollow heart barely beating in my chest is starting to suffocate me. I feel so numb, and I'm on the verge of giving up, of giving in, because what's the point when the one thing that makes you fully alive is taken away from you? What's the point when that one thing that makes you feel on top of the world is snatched out of your grasp? What's the point when you're the walking dead? What's the point when nothing else matters, when nothing else makes you feel so alive? What's the point when you cannot feel anything anymore? I'm standing on the edge, I'm in a tug-of-war battle with life and death and I think the latter may win. Soon I'll be nothing but a hollow shell. This feeling is constantly eating away at me, taunting me, and I fear I cannot take it much longer.

As the smoke feels my lungs, my eyes close in pure bliss and the constant tugging at my heart has subsided for a moment. The thoughts of a childhood friend is foggy and becomes a distant memory. The smoke swirled around, making everything less clear, as I exhaled allowing myself to relax slightly. As the toxic fumes of the cancer-stick I had between my lips filled my body I could finally feel. I felt alive again. My eyes stared up at the sky allowing my mind and body to be at ease. The soft gray helped clear my mind until the swirl of grays turned into familiar wide eyes, full of youth and innocence as they gazed down at me. Cursing under my breath, I breathed more harmful fumes into my lungs hoping it'd help erase the memories. Shutting my eyes tightly, I willed the pitiful memories to leave me be.

For a moment they did. The memories dispersed and I was alive once again. Then it all came crashing down on me, and the emptiness in the pit of my stomach pulled me back into reality. Like a black-hole the emptiness swallowed me whole. The affects of the cancer-stick wore off and I was being succumbed by the emptiness once again. It always over powered everything else. Clutching my stomach, I let a groan slip past my lips. As I sat up I put out my cigarette and focused on breathing. My stomach felt hollow, so empty, like everything inside of me was vacuumed out. I explained it in words, but it feels weird and it makes me so uncomfortable. I don't like this feeling. It's so painful and irritating. I just want it to go away, but I know it won't.

There's only one thing that can make this feeling go away. There's only one person that can make me feel whole again. There's only one person who can make me feel alive again. I don't even know where he is, or how he's doing. What if he's not even alive? The thought made my stomach sink and the the feeling in my stomach just got worse. Tears slid down my face as I pictured his lifeless body in a casket (of course it was a seven year old's body, because that's the last time I saw him and I don't know how he looks now). I tried to rid the thoughts from my mind, but it was like they were etched in my brain only to drive me insane. These thoughts were slowly killing me and I don't know how much more of this torture I can bare.

Still clutching onto my stomach, I buried my face in my thighs letting a choked sob pass my lips. My violently shook as I allowed myself to cry. This feeling was driving my crazy, and it was hard to function with it constantly nagging me. I just want to feel alive again. I want to be whole again. I want this feeling to permanently leave from my body, so I can breathe once again. I want this feeling to just leave me the fuck alone. I want the kid that was going to be my "best friend forever" to be back in my life. It was all wishful thinking. I was slowly wasting away.

This emptiness was haunting me.