Yearning for the Distant

08- Huit

VIII

FLORENCE.

'If one day I cease to be beautiful, will you still love me just the way I am? There's no true beginning but there can be a true ending. One where we look into each other's eyes and never regret finding each other after all the pain and bleeding as we soon end the reflections of our cold hearts. However, in these, we can either live or die while we both believe in ourselves. After the actions, we are ashamed of the series of games we've played whilst also trying to hide it but losing one day at a time. Our mirrors show a reflection of the grudge we held and all the sorrow we have cast upon others as they all come as flashbacks in all consciousness and taunt our sleep.

The stoic revelations of love dance as we keep on lying to others but most importantly, to ourselves. The love lies and secrets we refused to share in what we called a relationship. What good is a relationship if the communication isn't there for we were only caught up in touching ourselves without talking frankly about our constant repetitive histories when the day soon called upon for the night and stars settled? This toxic gap of what should have been romance was replaced with misfortune. We grew happy when we saw sorrow and suffering on each other's faces all while being trapped in a space of hypocrisy.

Gone was the tenderness as our slow gestures of kindness are now replaced with loathe. When and why did we ever reach here? Now I see that I want you to stay with me because I need you by my side. This guilt slowly eats away my dignity. It nibbles around leaving marks around my body and ears that ring as the deafening silence swallows me as a hole all over. I feel ruthless and reckless so much I can't seem to move a muscle and cry myself to sleep with the moon as the only emitting light to my grief. I wasn't ready to lose you and can't get over that idea.

That... Fact.

I can't lose you.'

My sister asked, "What do you think about it?" Her deep voice threw me out of the little text she had written, and she cast me a look from her rectangular glasses as she delved further into the other piece she was working on.

"It's spectacular," I complimented her with a smile while running a hand through my hair, feeling as proud of her as I should be. Despite the four-year age gap between us, we looked almost the same age. If one person was to look older than the other, it would be her.

"Thank you. I can now post this." She lightly tapped her feather pen into the golden ink vial and continued writing the other part of her piece before pushing her glasses further up her nose - but not too far. She despised pushing them too far.

"You were waiting for my approval," I questioned, crossing my legs and sipping on the indulgent cup of coffee she had prepared for me - it had a block of ice cream melting into the warm goodness.

"Of course. You're my sister, and your opinion matters most." Seeing how quickly my sister had changed after her incident was mind-blowing. When we were younger, I used to physically discipline her, but I eventually stopped and started yelling at her instead. Although I wanted her to obey me, I also missed the compassionate side of her that I had lost.

We've never discussed it, and I've never dared to tell her, but deep down I knew that she wasn't present with us. She wasn't here with me or any of us, to begin with.

Her existence was non-existent.

Rutherford was known for living life to the fullest, harder than anyone else, and I pray that part of her comes back to me. You see, we're not talking about just any woman here - we're talking about my sister. She was the one who always understood me before anyone else could. She removed every bad thing or person from my life, brought me ultimate luck with her never-ending clumsiness, and had a brilliant way of thinking. She helped me choose my friends carefully and eradicated my worries and stress.