What do the stars feel when they look at Us?

Chapter 11: Fall in love with your regrets

My room had always been an empty room. A sort of sad room.

Because I never cared about things like spaces I never cared about filling them.

Fill the space in my head or fill the space on my bed. Fill the space on my wall or the window frames. Fill the space on my desk or the space underneath or anything else but the only closet and chair that are both occupied by my clothing.

And I was waiting for time to pass. Waiting for everything to be like it had been again. With Linda.

Waiting for something to change.

And while waiting, I spent a lot of time in my room.

All of a sudden I didn't feel like walking anymore. Like going outside.

So I stared at my wall and the window frames. Or the desk and the space underneath.

This empty room became the safe haven between going home alone from school and going to bed at night thinking about Linda's rough lips.

I hardly see them anymore.

In my heart, I knew I deserved it.

I avoided her so much. All the time.

It's only fair she does now, too, right?

I felt the regret rolling down my spine as I was staring at these walls.

And kept thinking about how she rejected me.

How unusual it was for her to act that way.

But it made me realize how much it must've hurt when I did.

I deserved it after all.

And I stared at my walls and I stared and I stared - until my mom noticed.

-

She had a day off and stormed into my room as soon as she found out that I was awake.

It was a Saturday.

I was sitting on my bed and she hugged me as if I was still a little child.

On some days she seemed younger than she actually was.

You could always see that she carried invisible things around within her head.

Now that I think about it, she probably should've been the reason I started discovering empathy. Maybe deep down she was.

You could always see it in her eyes. Her body might've been flawed by ageing. But sometimes her irides were so bland and empty. Hollow and achromatic.

And on days like this Saturday, they bloomed. They became seas of honey. They became the only spot the sun seemed to lay her eyes on.

And as she hugged me, my room started filling up with the person that she was. Not the person that was constantly suppressed by stress and responsibility. And the room became hers entirely.

It was such a rare feeling. To see her like that.

That I started to cry.

And she started to cry.

And she didn't flinch like she always did when I showed emotion. She didn't move away.

Like back when Linda had to take care of me during my seizures.

My mom and I had been each other's closest family for a while.

Connecting feelings had become so few that there was no need to be afraid of them now. There was no time not to embrace them.