There was never a night when I did not see this man.
Not a man, more like a boy; a boy in his teens. He had long raven hair; but not too long. The ragged and grown out tips stretched to just past his ears. It gave a slight shine in the moonlight as it shone through my bedroom window; the light reflecting off his hair as if it was a mirror. I could see the silky smoothness of the strands as they blew back and forth with my curtains in the wind. I had never felt his hair, but I’m sure that if I had, it would feel as soft as it looked. If I touched his hair, I would’ve been embedded in softness and comfort.
The boy never moved. He only stood there silently at the end of my bed adjacent to my window every night. That was until I would greet him, of course. My bed lay horizontally from my window, the heavy, fluffy and pink duvet draped completely over the bed and I. Every time I would greet him, I would slide my feet off the left side of my bed and smile.
“ Hello.” I would say.
Sometimes he would reply back. But most times, he would only extend his hand out towards me for me to take. The boy was tall, and lanky. Just from looking at him he seemed maybe 5’7” or taller; nothing out of the ordinary for a teenage boy his age.
Every time he would extend his hand out to me, I would take it. His touch was so soft. Gentle enough to throw an egg in the air and catch it without it breaking. He would sympathetically squeeze my hand as I stood up from the cozy squishiness of the beds mattress beneath me.
When he did respond he would speak quietly, as if he was trying to wake someone up kindly.
“Hello.” He would respond.
But it never mattered if the boy responded or not, for we always resulted in the same happenings.
The wind continued to whiz by through my window, creating the softest whistle. So quiet that if you weren’t trying to hear it, you may not hear it at all. I walked ever so slowly around the side of my bed to finally meet with the boy at the end.
We now stood in front of one another. I could see his ashen grey eyes as they peered into mine. The boy's eyes were soft. They say eyes are a window into the soul, but I couldn’t read his. They were dark, yet so light. And they were empty, yet so filled with emotion. The only thing his eyes seemed to read was ‘mystery’.
Just like his eyes, the rest of his face held gentle features as well. His nose was pointed but rounded at the tip. Also holding a slight shimmer caused by the moonlight entering the room through the window, showering on top of us. His lips were small, but not a ‘thin’ small. They were naturally full with the softest tint of pink washing over the base of his lips. The boy’s lips were also soft, in appearance at least. They didn’t seem the slightest bit chapped and his skin looked just as equally soft, as if he had taken good care of his skin. Along with his bright yet mysterious complexion, his eyes glistened in the light; blinding me a little, causing a squint.
As I still had a hold of the boy’s hand, I slowly let go and my arm swung down to rest by my side to match my left arm. He did the same. But unlike any of the nights before, the boy reached his hand into the pocket of his black dress pants, the very same hand that was once holding mine so comfortingly. I watched in amusement as he moved. His movements, no matter how small, were so mesmerizing and swift. The boy’s arm moved quickly and without hesitation. He pulled out a tiny box.
The tiny little box was in the shape of a cube, it was plain, worn down, and a harsh ivory colour. The box also had little rips in the cardboard it was made out of, as if it had been used multiple times before or had been sitting in his pocket for a while.
“I have something for you.” His voice was deep; adolescently so. It also carried a small weight to it. I had never heard him speak so much before; he was usually timid and awkward, and never spoke more than a few words at a time. The new sentence gave me a struck of shock.
I peered down at the tiny ivory box laying in his hand and tilted my head to the side. Seeming to understand me, the boy grew a small smirk on his face. Immediately, the small smile made his whole face more lively. His eyes actually had a noticeable glimmer of joy, and his softly pink tinted cheeks were raised the tiniest bit as the smile ensued.
“Look.” The boy brought his other hand, hovering it over the top of the box. He then brought his hand down and using the tips of his fingers, he gently placed a hold on the lid of the tiny ivory box, pulling it off and revealing…
“A rock.” I had said. The rock was small. It was an orangey-red colour and had tiny dust specks of brown, black and a lighter brown. It looked as if it had been taken from an ocean.
The boy nodded, his hair moving as he did so, and the light illuminating from the moon hit the highest part of his cheekbones, which left a much better look into his empty and joyful ashen grey eyes. His smile also brightened in the light as well.
I remembered this rock. This is the rock that I had found in the ocean earlier that same morning. I placed my hand on top of the rock, picking it up as he lowered his hand with the lid in it back down to his side.
“Have you been following me?” I questioned lightly.
“Yes…” The boy responded in a bit of a chuckle.
I smiled back, squeezing the rock in my palm and watching the boy close the tiny ivory box by placing its lid on, and then watched as he slid it back into his pocket gracefully.
This whole time, the soft whistle and roar of the wind bounding in through my open window, and the ever so faint sound of the ocean as the waves crashed by in the distance filled the atmosphere in my room. With my eyes so used to the dark, the moonlight that filled the night sky and some parts of my room seemed brighter than before.
The soft silence of the boy and I not saying a word to each other, lingered for what felt like 10 minutes before he broke the silence with an exhale. A quite loud and exaggerated exhale.
“I miss you.” The gleeful smile on his face had faded away and now he looked, almost sad. His eyebrows were furrowed down, and the once joyful gleam in his eyes had subsided and got substituted by a sad, wishful glisten.
The white button-up shirt he was wearing started to wrinkle as his posture began to slouch.
“I miss you, too… Goodnight. See you tomorrow.” I had said, before turning and making my way back to the side of my bed. I stopped and looked back at the boy.
“Goodnight.” He replied.
I leaned down and climbed into my bed, the fuzzy duvet surrounding me as I wrapped myself in its warmth. It was comforting. The soft embrace of the blanket reminded me of something at that moment.
That’s right. It reminded me of him. I looked back to the end of my bed, but it was already too late. He was gone.
Again.
Until tomorrow night.
