Disconnected ✓

et dans le silence

After a loud noise, there was always silence that followed. Silence was like that, a kid who would follow you no matter where you go. As opposed to contrary belief, silence wasn't always comforting or relaxing. Sometimes it was deafening. The loudest sound to exist, I would believe, was silence.

And silence sat with me like the way Lydia did when something seemed wrong. A few days later, I had nothing in me to scream. There was anger. Lots of it. Enough to smash holes into otherwise perfect walls. Enough to destroy everything that my hands possibly could.

But I didn't. Couldn't. I stayed in bed, not attending the online course that I took, looking at the pictures of Mona from when we were dating. One thing I was glad about was that I didn't delete these out of spite- that I would be able to move on even if her face was in front of me. What a fool I was...

I was holed up in this room, white walls surrounding me. White was supposed to be a colour that represented peace. And I felt everything but. I used to think that white was the most powerful colour as it could break into every colour that could possibly exist. But white to me now was a draining colour. The more I looked at it, the more colourless it felt.

Lydia didn't like it, of course, me staying in all day like this. She tried her best to convince me to come out of my cocoon. I promised her that I would once I felt better. I tried to let go of this anger that I felt for myself.

But sometimes forgiving yourself could be the hardest thing ever. And I never understood that. I always thought that it was easier to justify our own mistakes and forgive ourselves than someone else.  I was wrong. Forgiving myself, if I could do it, I didn't know I would willingly.

I ate chocolate ice cream for breakfast this morning and almost wanted to complain to Mona that she was lying, that eating dessert didn't help in feeling better about a bad day.

I listened to her songs online. There were not many, only a couple of them were released- that too weren't studio recordings, they were live performances that they did in pubs, most of them which were covers of some other artist's songs. And I wondered yet again, if she didn't overdose, she could've come so far. Her music delivered what she wanted to desperately express though: love with a twist. An eerie feeling. As if there are ghosts of love that couldn't blossom.

I listened to her voice on repeat, in her performances and the recordings of the video calls and voice messages. I noticed that she giggled often, something people wouldn't even believe that she would if they didn't pay attention towards her closely. I also noticed that her voice was only loud sometimes, most times, it was soothing and calm.

And in a couple of call recordings, after I fell asleep first, she whispered things about how she loved me so much because she was sure that I had fallen asleep. I never noticed those before. I didn't notice that she would scribble random lyrics into her books instead of sleeping. She had a hard time sleeping and that's why she'd get wasted, I observed, to get rest for a couple of hours.

I noticed so many such things about her as I sat down with nothing but her memories. But now, I couldn't tell her that I found that heart-shaped ring that she never takes off really suits her or how almost every colour that she dyed her hair suited her or how she looked so cute with her hair pulled into space buns.

For the month before breaking up with her, I had nothing to say to her, to talk to her about. But now I had so much to say. I had so much to ask. I wanted to ask her how exactly she would make her favourite recipes. Or why she started taking drugs in the first place. But every conversation died on my tongue before it escaped my lips. Because I knew I would only hear silence as an answer.

I could pretend that was still here, that she was mad at me and was giving me a cold shoulder. I tried really hard to pretend that was it, that we were over- because we were and move on. And I was trying to do that. But so far, I didn't see any change.

I was yet again disconnected from the world, this time in a different sense. I was disconnected, not just from social media but the world altogether. I was disconnected from love, from myself.

My thought process was interrupted by a loud bang of the door opening. There was Lydia, stomping her way in, looking rather scary with her hands on her hips. "Stop acting like this, Lucas. You haven't lifted my calls-"

"I didn't check my phone," I dared to cut her off mid-sentence but in my defense, I really did not check my phone.

Her green eyes narrowed at me. "Okay! Leave that. You tell me, do you think Ramona would like seeing you like this? Decaying like a living corpse?!"

I hung my head as she came over to me, tugging at my hands. "Please, Lucas, let's go out. I cannot see you rotting away in self-hatred like this. This was probably the reason as to why her last message was to not blame yourself and to take care."

When I kept quiet, weighing her words, she grabbed my face, cupping it. "Lucas, please..."

"Okay," I said as I smiled softly against her. I get dressed in Ramona's favorite black T-shirt and pair it with a denim jacket. After locking my house, we step out in the sun, which was a first for me in days. I stopped in my tracks for a second. "Dia?"

"Hm?" She looked back at me, also halting in her steps.

I smiled. "I think I want to try loving someone."

She grinned as a response. "How about you start with yourself?"

"Huh?"

"Why don't you try loving someone Ramona loved so dearly?" She reached out to ruffle my hair. "Why don't you try loving yourself?"

"I think I'll start there," I promised myself and Ramona, looping my hand with Lydia as we walked towards the small diner at the end of the street. I knew what my order was going to be before I even looked at the menu or even entered the shop. Chocolate icecream.

THE END.