Falling

thirteen

ambivalence:  [amˈbivələns]
n. state having simultaneous, sometimes conflicting feelings towards something -
like feeling happy and sad at the same time

*****

The days are becoming shorter, and nights, darker.

Winter is coming.

Vibrant feathers of leaves colored the faded sky, eventually decorating the ground as well with their unique shades.

And as the months passed, the golden red turned dull brown, scattering across the landscape as people crunched them under their feet, forgetting their existence.

Once fully endowed trees are now stripped bare, prepared for the onslaught of winter's first breath.

I have always felt more at ease during the winter, as excuses were no longer needed for long sleeves.

And winter is where the warmest of things happen on the coldest of days.

For the past three months, they have all left me alone. Jeers, sneers, and the occasional shove was all that was given, and I'm grateful.

And, the house became awfully quiet, with the man and woman on a business trip. Their leave abrupt, as if they had just vanished overnight. Their presence hasn't been missed in the months, of course.

But, it felt wrong, as if something's amiss.

Disgusting, uneven blotches of blue, purple, yellow and colors I don't even know can be mixed together were now gone, or faded. My own body felt foreign, as if I was seeing it for the first time in a new light. Only the scars remained, popping out even against my pale skin, especially the ones on my thighs.

Liar.

Slut.

I would trace my fingers over them, every night before I sleep, before I let the darkness take me, like a ritual. Ironically, the scars that marred me were the only things that were familiar to me.

It was almost comforting, to fall into an abyss of unknown. I know nightmares plagued me from the self inflicted nail marks and sweat drenching the thin rags, clinging them onto my body like a bodysuit. Yet, somehow I don't remember them, not a single one. A small blessing in disguise, I suppose. Some things are just not meant to be known.

Like him.

Looking beside me, a small smile tugged at my cheeks.

He stood outside the entrance, leaning the same way, every single day, waiting for me. 

Although I never told him why I ran away that day, he took the hint and kept a careful reminder to not make physical contact with me. Not until I took the leap, tugged him close and told him that, it's okay now. We talked, about things. I know his likes, hobbies, dislikes, all the little things and he knows mine. 

Yet, I don't really know him. And I'm fine with that. Sometimes, it's not necessary to tug out their past, dig at their minds, and ask about their look on the meaning of life. Sometimes, it's the childish smile that graces his lips whenever I give him a hug. Sometimes, it's the small quirk of surprise he tries to mask when I give him a smile. Sometimes, it's the silence of safety enveloping both of us as we sit, side by side, under the manchineel tree. 

Sometimes, it's the little things in life that makes us, us.

I don't know what we are considered.

A couple?

Together?

Boyfriend and girlfriend? 

Frankly, it doesn't matter.

His stirred at my side, mumbling incoherent things, and tucked his chin above my head, pulling me close. Comforted with the soft, constant whispers of his breath tickling my hair, I finally understood. 

We're just two people finding ourselves, in each other. 

*****

A/N: 

I just want to say that, you, yes you, the one who's reading this right now, is downright awesome. I love reading the comments, seeing the feedback, and it's just so surreal. That people like this, and read this. 

A huge shoutout to all of you, because without you, there won't be me.

An author is nothing without their readers. 

(Okay, enough sappy, cleansing my mouth)