I Suppose all stories start somewhere. Doesn't really matter what the ending is, but just that there was once a story that will most likely never be heard as it is said through silence.
If not for my own sanity, then for who's?
To know my love?
To know my sorrow?
No one could possibly know how i feel, as I alone, was alone. myself.
It never occurred to me that I would one day have to say this, make it a big grand deal.
Nonetheless, I'm not sitting down. I'm standing up, and I'm finding it difficult to stay there without my legs giving way.Achilles, was my best friend. Or better yet, more than a best friend.
He was friends to many, but only so many knew him for who he truly was.
A brave, honourable and lovable man. However, even muttering these words make me feel sick.
I know, these aren't the words I would describe him. Not even close.
So I'm sure you're all begging to know?
Pleading to, on your knees, praying to know.What could possibly have broken him so much that he decided to leave me? Alone.
All alone.
On this earth.
With out him.
He has broken me, and I don't think i can ever forgive him for that.
Not even if i did, the pain would forever linger and eat me from the inside.
He has done this.
And it infuriates me to not hate him for it.I suppose there's no use beating around the bush.
I didn't come prepared with a eulogy, mainly because I always thought I would go first.
I knew he struggled with his depression just as much as myself , but i had hoped that he would make it out on the other side.
I was wrong, of course.
Of course, I was wrong.
He was always right.I knew Achilles, since I was 6.
I met him on a lazy Wednesday in 1997, mid July, crete.
My mom and I were on holiday.
She liked to take me on many holidays, all over the world.
But we were known by name, by Spanish, italian, French and of course, Greek locals.
We always made a new friend on our little holiday trips, my mom loved the beach, but for me I loved the culture,
not the hot sun or the ocean, the locals who all held different interests in their palms like it was a bar of gold.
That was something that my home town in Pennsylvania could never quite capture.
Heart.
Worth.
And,
Work.I remember that day, I was thinking about it this morning when Getting on my train just so that I could attend this service today.
Even though it was decades ago, I know where I was, and where he was.
And that's all that matters.
I don't know, if he remembers.
I would hope so.
But I guess, I'll never know.It was at the beach,
My mom, sunbathing.
The sky, clear.
No clouds.
No breeze.
The sand, soft.
I was in red trunks I believe, with a straw hat that made me look like a scare crow, some blue slip on Sandals that my mom had a matching pair of and way too much suntane lotion on my back, she said I always squirmed because it was too cold.I wasn't a fan of water,
So I stayed on the sand for the most part, watching the sea wash up and down.
I thought about how tired I would be if I were an ocean, a never ending work out that would bore me to tears, maybe that's why oceans were wet.
I thought that this recollection was the most genius thing my brain had ever conjured up.
However, when I grew older. I would laugh at how silly I was to put 2 and 2 together.I looked up to see a boy,
A small,light brown boy,
Although, you could barely tell, with the Sun hung over him.
His hair was black, but shiny when water trickled down it like it would a leaf or fruit.
His trunks were green, frog green.
And like a frog, he seemed to be hopping in the ocean like he was trying to catch a frog himself.
He must've looked funny, from what i can remember.What's even more funny is that i know, I would mostly likely get scolded by him if he could say something right now.
I always found a way to emberass him.
And he always found a way to return the favor.
So I guess, we're even.
YOU ARE READING
Charmolipi
Romancethis is a queer short story that I've been working on for a month : ) it's set in Crete, two boys fall in love as pen pal holiday friends.