Yes they are very blue, even bluer when I cry
“In the past, were you ever in love?” he asks.
I turn to gaze at him and see the curious expression on his face. He looks intense, as though my answer will mean everything to him.
I decide to answer honestly, because I hope the ending will be altered this time.
“Yes.” I reply softly. It is nearly a whisper.
He now seems hesitant to continue; he plays like he does not want to know the actualities. I am conscious of his game though, he desires to know all.
Right on time, he probes, “What was he like?”
I feel my breath hitch, just like always. I do not want to go on, but my mouth speaks without permission. I have lost control.
“He seemed faultless,” I explain, “He was impeccable at all things. He was melodic, optimistic, and assertive. We shared a parallel nature. He was wise beyond his years and resilient. He was difficult to decode, but that was what intrigued me. You never knew what to expect. He was spontaneous. Although he was quite vehement, you could sense sensitivity. You could see it in his eyes with his protective stance. He was occupied with fear, although he would not show it to his peers. He was terrified to lose what he claimed his. That is what his ultimate weakness became.”
He does not speak for a moment, and all I can hear is severe rain hammering on his truck. The wind is becoming strong. At this point, I ought to be freezing, but I have become numb to any kind of ache. I have been through this scenario far too much.
He probes again, “What happened to your love?”
This question becomes easier to answer each time with practice. I do not even hesitate, although my heart is begging for me to rest.
“I’m not sure if it was ever true. Words were never vocalized, and feelings were never expressed. I was prepared to fall in love, but he was ignorant to the fact that he was sharing similar feelings as I.”
I choose to turn my attention back to his face, but I recognize in the end this is a mistake. He looks sympathetic, but I am not to be fooled.
He is about to ask his preceding questions, so I decide to look away. I cannot bare this pain. I was wrong. It does not matter how many times I endure it.
“Do you still love him? Are you only with me to fill a void?”
I swallow the remaining saliva in my throat. He turns to look at me and expects me to answer.
“No, I do not still love him.” I lie, “You are also not filling a void.” I lie again.
“He is a coward, which is why I no longer love him. He made a conscious choice to be ignorant about his love for me. I was his rag doll, he would place me in his hands and flaunt me for all his friends to see. He knew I would wait for him, he knew I loved him enough not to retaliate. I was his boost for self-esteem. He let his anxiety become his weakness. We all have fear in love, but that is what he failed to realize. He decided his fear was not appropriate, and that is why he rationalized it was wrong to love me.”
I now chuckle at the irony of my statement, for I am participating in the same acts.
He just nods and lifts himself back up to sit up straight. He must be above all.
I question if I should answer his next question truthfully. It could be different this time, it really could be. I should be hopeful.
Now he looks me directly in the eye and asks, “Who is this shameful boy?”
I cannot help but smirk, but with all the might I can muster I answer, “You are.”
He looks at me, clearly puzzled. My breath hitches for the hundredth time, and I pray that his response will be altered from the last time.
Just as I anticipated, his voice echoes in my earlobes, “I have never loved you.”
Our scene suddenly shifts, and we are in a familiar room. I lean back against the grand piano and shut my eyes. I try to hold back the tears flowing down my face.
I feel his hand rest on mine as he clarifies, “I have never known you before this is all. I can love you.”
I then feel his lips press against my neck, and just as I always anticipated, I feel as though I am being electrocuted. Sparks are flying off my neck and hitting his face, but he is unaware.
“Please don’t leave me.” He pleads, as he continues to plant gentle kisses on my neck.
My tears are freefalling now, and I am still not sure if the melody I am hearing is coming from the pounding of my heart, his voice, or the grand piano.
After moments of silence I reply, “I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”
This routine is nothing new. I wake up in a cold sweat and glance towards the blue numbers, the same color as his eyes, and check the time. It’s 3:27 am. Right on time. I believe it is because three is his favorite number, and twenty seven is the age he is about to become. It’s always the same.
I suddenly feel muscular arms wrapped around my waist, but I feel too broken to turn around.
The boy lying next to me props himself up and asks, “Did you have a nightmare again?”
I don’t answer and imagine him wrapping his arms around me and planting kisses slowly on my neck.
The boy now nods knowing my answer and asks, “Will I ever know what your nightmares are about?”
I then softly reply, “There is nothing to tell. I am just in hell.”
He nods again, and rolls over. He is too understanding.
“I love you.” He whispers.
“I love you too.” I lie.
He then rolls over to fall back into his peaceful slumber.
I swallow the ball in my throat once again and pray to God that tomorrow I will not re-live this dream.
But as we both know, right before I fall asleep, I will be wishing to dream of him, so I can be within my tranquility and hope that the truth has improved.
Spring is here