more lines are placed onto the page as i watch E's hand move so gracefully. each movement made me focus more on E and lost all concentration on the art. within seconds the piece was completed and held in the air like its predecessor asking for my examination. a question mark. "what is E?" i thought, the question that had plagued my mind the night before. soon those words passed my lips and and once more i can see the blue crayon hit the page and once more, within seconds the face was blocked by a page. "E" was the only thing written on the page until I moved within a closer proximity to the person and the art and noticed the the teeny tiny "m" on the left side of the vowel. "me".
"E is me and me is E" the voice, hidden by the page murmured.
E leaves and I'm alone again, the sunlight on the walls shining bright like the warm in my heart. the cloud cover, the like realisation that you and E both left, covered the sun and removed the warm feeling from inside my chest. i am cold and bitter, everything you hated in coffee and hate within me. you hated how i doubted myself and you how i get scared, you hate the way my minds works and you hated when i cried. you made me emotional and you made me weak, you hated what you made me and i felt as if I'd died.
as the sun moved through the skies, more thoughts filled me head, like always compressing my skull increasing the pressure in my brain. more pressure, more thoughts all means more anxiety and the more i hate myself. no, i don't hate myself, i hate what you made me. i guess we still have something in common.
102 with the sun still shining and the refectory is filled. sitting at the same place as usual with the bad food in front of me i overlook the room and see those struggling to eat and those you just want to leave. looking around the face of E is nowhere and an overwhelming feeling sadness and loss comes over me, it's strange, it's new, it's nice. this isn't love but it's something. upon finishing the reheated pre-frozen carbohydrates the administrators of this place call food, i leave the hall and the soft spikes of the shaved head of the one person I've spoke to in here feel like a conditioned hedgehog rolling under my chin as i bump into E. "shit sorry" i say as i back away. no words were spoken by E but I blinked and the image of the pretty face was gone. back at my desk the words written on the blank spaces all come back to you. i used to write about nature and beauty and how the grass felt at midnight but now you are the nature, you are the beauty and i write of how your lips tasted the last time we kissed. i miss that taste.
YOU ARE READING
102
Ficção Adolescentean abundance of anxiety ridden sleepless nights spent worrying and feeling sorry for myself in a constant state of fear and despair. the story of how you lead me into the place i ultimately belong.
