Sincere Lies

Thirty-Three

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"Good afternoon, Miss." I looked to the right to see who was talking to me. A uniform-clad gentleman was standing in front of me, holding a bouquet of roses.

"I am a messenger from Messengers' Drive," the gentleman said, and I recalled how Messengers' Drive was different from Degree One. Messengers' Drive is a messaging system inside Town in a Building that operates with the help of messengers that will give the message personally to the recepient.

"Good afternoon," I smiled as I gave him a curious look.

"Pinabibigay po ni Chris Hartell," he said, handing the bouquet of roses to me. It was a combination of two colors, just like how it had always been. Those two colors were red and fuchsia.

"Thank you," I said, a painful smile forming on my lips.

A small note was inserted in between the gaps of the roses' stems. I took it as the messenger left.

-

Hello Cerulean,

I am giving these roses to you because its colors mean something again. The red ones mean true love, while the fuchsia ones mean gratitude.

So I am thanking you for letting me experience true love. I know that it's all so impossible and we can't be anymore, but I am so grateful that I found love with you. (BTW, I am capitalizing my I's.) So, thank you, my lady.

Sincerely,
Chris

-

I inhaled sharply after I read the note.

I had nothing on my mind but Chris. I wished he was there to hug me. I wished he was there to give me the roses. I wished he was there to be with me. I wished I could still be his lady. Even just for a day.

Without a second thought, I pulled my paint set out of my shoulder bag. I had a small canvas that I could use inside the bag, so I pulled it out as well as I sat on a chair and table near me.

I was ready to stain my hands with acrylic. I was going to paint. . . abstract.

I picked my first colors. Without any doubt, I picked cerulean and the other shades of blue. I just thought that I should put myself first.

After more strokes of paint, I knew that I would be the only one who could understand this art. Like how my art was admired only by me. Ako lang naman lagi ang nakatitig sa gawa ko. Well, kami ni Chris. And Angie.

But even if my hands were shaking, even if my pencils could be broken, I painted something, but Chris would need me beside him to know that.

Because Chris and Cerulean aren't real. Because he is an ideal one. Because this love is just a concept. Because with all these colors, he is abstract.

He is the general idea.

But then again, looking back on our love, I was just in my dreams, and I was wrong all along. I believed that I should not be pressured. I believed that I was finally good enough. I believed that I was Cerulean. I believed that I was loved by a man like Chris.