Issues of the Heart

Prologue:

          My life has been a mess when she left, not just left I tell you, she left me hanging as though I wasn't a part of her life. Why do people do that? Don't they know how painful it is? To just be thrown like you worth less than enough. Don't they know how that feels? To do everything you can just to show the one you love you can be worth her time, and then being ignored will be your prize. Man, that sucks.

Chapter 1:

          This is a story of a young man who has been wasting his time loving the wrong woman, me. Blessed to be named after my father, Cleozen, often called Cleo. To be honest, I wasn't really born with writing skills, but obviously I'd rather write than speak, because nobody would dare to listen, nobody would stop just to see the sadness in my eyes, nobody cares, and I'm certain of that.

            Writing what you feel has a way of healing, I'm definitely thankful for that.

Chapter 2:

            I still remember the first time I saw her, the very same day I told myself I again have a reason to wear a smile. I still remember every detail.

            It was the 14th day of October, I was with my band, "The Rhythm Painters", and we spent our night playing in a bar near Rakisha St., the street where I live in. I was the guitarist of The Rhythm Painters, Josh on vocals, Ian on bass and Francis on drums. We played few rock songs we wrote. Josh was screaming the final words of our latest composition, "More than hope" as I took my lead, and then I saw her, nodding her head as our drummer, Francis, do his beat. She had jet-black hair that looked dyed, and eyes that showed colors, she had tattoo all over her arms that looked stunning on her and man, her smile that proved life was worth living. How I felt when she took a photo of me when I took my last strum with a C#m. If someone would ask me to define divine, I would like to put her name as a definition, whatever her name is.

            I'm not supposed to believe in love at first sight, because I'm a male. Guys aren't supposed to do things that only girls do, right? But Eros wanted to prove me wrong. "She is beautiful, such beauty she holds," Eros whispers as though he was the superego of a man. Maybe the-love-at-first-sight thing is not bad after all. Maybe I should care less about what would others say. Maybe we people aren't really meant to please others because that would be fitting in, not being yourself. These were my thoughts while waiting for Francis and the others fix their things.

            "Excuse me, sir Cleo. Would you allow me to capture this memory?" She asked, holding her camera. For a second, I thought I was about to faint and luckily I didn't. Can you believe it? She knew my name! "Sure, my pleasure," I answered her with a smile I was not used to wear. She asked her friend, I guess, to take a photo of us. She opened her backpack then and handed me our second album, she asked me to sign it for her and of course I did. When I was about to write, I asked her, "What's your name again?"

"Hrycaine. Anne Hrycaine, sir."

"To Hry-," I asked her how to spell her name as she speaks while I write.

"H-R-Y-C-A-I-N-E."

            I ended up with, "To Hrycaine, we are grateful to have you here tonight. - The Rhythm Painters, Cleo." She thanked me and even said, "I love your band." and then she left with a sign of elation on her face, I have never seen a smile like that, is Hrycaine what you call 'drop-dead-gorgeous'? I am almost certain that she is.  How can a woman be beautiful yet so simple? Knowing the secret is not really my business, but surely, Hrycaine can do it perfectly. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, after my mother and first love of course.