To you, my lover boy.
To you, now I am writing while going back in my younger self, brushing away the traces of age life has given me and turning into the same lily which you once held in your captive under the torrential rain.
+ A Short Story +
Com...
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"I may not be a poet to dress you perfectly with poems, but I can be sad pianist; who can turn your heart at me with a tune."
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I have no idea where this reminiscing about you will lead me to. But as long as it is still not night, I think it is okay for me to keep writing. I feel very sleepy only at eight o'clock; so its better to finish it now.
But... will writing about you ever get finished?
We never had a story that will make millions of hearts flutter. Well, it does not have to be always about others, does it? I was happy, and that is all that matters now. Your memories make me smile unlike none. At this stage, being happy is the best thing I can do.
Something I have learned after all these years, that every story does not need to have nerve wrecking twists to flip over the table. I don't need to please anyone by force. Why do I need to twist and turn my story to present it in a better way? I don't think anyone is even suggesting me to do that-
As an INFP-T, it's fine to chat with yourself.
I will just write what I remember...
Fine, it's your smile.
The first thing that captured me about you was your smile. What can I say about it? The moment I finally had the courage to look at you- I saw your timid smile at the camera in front. Our teacher was giving you a keychain for scoring top in our class. The way you tugged your lips upwards- it mostly seemed very awkward and forced to me. Maybe that was the reason I burst into laughter, too. And by that tinkering sound which was contagious enough- you also started to laugh.
The whole class started to laugh.
A snapping sound reached to my ears and thus, the camera captured an unforgettable moment of you. Smiling freely.
Shihu, that smile brought a brand new era to my life. Daydreaming about you was included in my list of favourite hobbies. Like those newly wrapped novels on my study table I still had not started to read. Like the hidden perfume bottles inside my drawer. Like the handmade keychains swinging from my school bag and random scribblings in my notebook. You were also like that; only my person to exist.
Sometimes I wondered, how cute you would look in sweaters and woollen hats. When it was 8 on the clock, I was reminded that you returned to home that time. I imagined you, wearing cute winter cloths and huddled up in blankets. Your nose red from coldness. Cheeks puffed.
Just a mere thought of you was pretty to me. You were the only person who could make me forget my other works and sit down immediately with my diary to write down my imaginations with you. That's the hold you had on me.
Your smile was always so addicting. Your whole body reacted to it. Even if I could not bring myself to look at your face, I could perfectly imagine how you looked when your ringing laughter reached to my ears; I could see in my imagination that your eyes were shaped like crescent moons, a smile so wide embraced your lips that it could heal hearts. It did. It healed my heart for a long time, until now.
Because now, I have no clue how I can put an end to every paragraph I am writing- it seems like these empty words can't describe you enough.
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