When the last piece had fallen, I want you to pick it up and keep it forever. I wanted you to hold me in your arms and never let go. I want you to bring out the best in me and squeeze out every single detail I have in my mind. Ask me again about my name, my birthday, my age just to know if I am still in the right condition because who knows? I might be out of my mind already. Tell me that those hundred books I keep on my shelves will come true and only those worlds I wish to exist will be one cab away. I want you to open up a notebook and list down every single detail you can see on my face. Be it the number of moles, pimples, length of my lashes, nose, and brows. All those things are what I wish. All those things are what I want you to do because those things are what I always do to you. No matter how busy you are, I secretly stare at you. No matter if you looked like a troubled nerd wanting to pass the last semester or a handsome prince who wanted to dance his last dance with a perfect princess, you are still my favorite view. I have even forgotten that the world is so big that there are around seven billion people in the world and you are the only one I look onto. I don't know why should I tell this but you're way more valuable than my collection of prose and poems and short stories. No. I mean, you're my prose. You're my poem. You are my story. Just my short story and in the end, of course, it is not happy and it will never be because flash fictions are better with twists.
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YOU ARE READING
Events
ŞiirA series of events that explores three stages of unrequited love. Written by my younger self. This has nothing to do with me now.
