laminated lavenders | dreamnotfound

12

12 - limbo

~

george stood in front of the lake, back turned to the world around him. he breathed and a sigh escaped his slightly parted lips. everything was calm, serene. george's head turned to look at his side, a large hand settled itself on his shoulder.

"george" a voice asked, honey smooth and nostalgic, it had grown deeper but george knew that voice from anywhere. the brit turned around and met green eyes, those familiar green eyes with brown and gold sprinkled within the pools.

"clay." george breathed, a happy cry escaping his throat.

his hair was ruffled in the wind, and his strawberry scent is now mixed with apple scented lotion - the scents lingering in the air as they swirled together in perfect harmony. the clothes he wore was full of colours and paint - he did love writing and art, and george was glad clay pursued his passion. his hair still looked like fine corn silk, and clay's aura reminded him of when they'd sneak out at night. his clay was here with him.

clay gives george a toothy grin and pulls the latter into a tight hug, feeling how warm his skin was, and smelling the same strawberry scented shampoo from all those years ago, hearing his heartbeat felt like second nature to george. the brit knew that once again, he was home.

the blond still was taller and stronger than george, and because of his excitement, he lifted the smaller brit off of the ground and twirled him around, their laughter was soft and beautiful – a sound george was happy to hear again after years of not seeing clay. george's cheeks, the tip of his nose and the tip of his ears were tinted pink, and his lips were in between the state of dry and moist because of the cold weather.

"you still have that same jacket from seventh grade?" george laughed softly, placing a strand of hair behind clay's ear as he stared up at the blond before him. and george can feel clay's eyes into his, as well as ghosted lips and feathery touches.

"yeah, I mean, you gave it to me. i'd never throw it away." clay replied warmly, pulling george closer to him, and george was pliant against clay's big hands.

once again, they ate gas station sushi, fried rice and beef, and drank carbonated milk. it was bittersweet, but as they basked in each other's presence, george knew that he'd meet clay again someday, for he is george's north Star and he'll always find his way back to taller boy.

'he is indeed the other half of my soul, as the poets say.' george thought.

george remembered when he boarded the plane, ready to start a new journey without the blond - his heart ached, and george thought of clay's lips, plump and tainted with the color of raw blueberries, tainted with the filling of his mother's pie with a shadow of a playful smirk on his lips as if they were playing a game. george can't help but taste the strawberry milk flavored lip balm coating clay's lips.

the patroclus to his achilles, he really is the other half of george's soul. love isn't perfect, it isn't anything like the ones they portray in the movies; it's happiness, but at the same time – it's pain, it's painful because when you love someone so much, sometimes there's uncertainty and doubt – running over all the possibilities and potential situations as to why they'll leave you.

love, when with the right person, is the best problem to have. there will always be doubts and questions that'll plague george's mind but, clay always proved him wrong, and with time and communication – maybe clay will trust him again, one day. but one thing's for sure; they never stopped loving each other, even when they weren't talking.

george hoped to see him again, even if they meet again here in pseudo-america, that'll do.

-

george sat up, cold sweat clinging onto his skin. he looked around, looking down at his trembling hands, the same hands instantly clutching his chest as sobs escaped past his lips, eyes leaking tears and falling down to his fingertips. he woke up. it was all a dream. 

he remembered, he did. he talked to cara, clay's older sister told him all about what happened.

-

'he left you those letters, didn't he?' cara asked, sipping coffee from the small cup in her hands. george sat on the couch opposite where cara sat, he nodded wordlessly.

'the letters, all they tell me is what happened when i disappeared, that he felt the same way about me.' george said, 'now, where is he?'

'george-' cara tried to respond, but george rudely cut her off.

'i know i fucked up, but i'm here to make up for it.' george raised his voice, slamming his hands on the table as he stood up. 'so please, stop hiding clay from me because i would never hurt him again!-'

'my brother is dead!' cara raised her voice back, her fingers wrapped tightly around her coffee cup, her knuckles turning white because of how tight it was. 'not everything is about you and your departure, my duckling is dead.' her voice cracked and she looked down as tears cascaded down her face.

'what?' george muttered, 'how? he didn't tell me anything-'

'clay had secrets too,' cara mumbled, setting her cup down on the table in front of her, 'when you were hiding you and your mother's departure, clay was hiding his pancreatic cancer.'

george was silent, his breathing was short and his hands were sweaty. 'our dad had it, but we noticed when his skin started to turn yellow, he was lethargic, we thought it was because you left - but, turns out he was very sick.' cara explained gently, standing up and pulling out clay's old mathematics textbook from the shelf behind her, opening it to the middle page - pulling out a flower encased in plastic - the lavender from all those years ago. 'he wanted you to have this, he was sad he didn't get to give you the lavender before you left.'

the brit took the laminated lavender with a shaking hand, letting out a sob and putting the flower close to his chest. clay's beauty was forever preserved within those letters and within the plastic casing the flower resided in.

'he didn't write letters to anyone else, clay was so blind and naïve, and he was talented - he never knew what would come after that – what would become of him when he desperately placed his work out there. clay didn't expect theskyscrapers of expectations and destructive insults.' cara mumbled, 'he didn't write to anyone else, not because of laziness, maybe his listlessness was a factor to his newfound distaste, maybe it was also because he ran out of inspiration when you left. clay only wrote letters to you because it wasn't his skill as an artist - it was him, purely him, every part of his heart he has been so afraid to release. and clay only wanted you to see him in his most vulnerable state.'

they were stuck in limbo, more than friends but less than conventional lovers, their love is something that didn't bloom. his clay was gone. george was too late.

george had a lot of things to tell clay, he wanted to praise him for his art once more, but he guessed he lost even that.

--

02/25/21 - first draft
03/09/21 - edited