20|A Pearl

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•There is a hole that you fill, you fill, you fill, but it's just that I fell in love with a war, and no one told me it ended.•

|MICHEAL|

•••

Weeks had passed with them gone, Micheal carefully and aggressively scrubbed every forsaken inch of his home free of them.

The inky black tear-stains on his pillowcase?

The thin layer of dust that covered everything one of them had touched?

The thread-bare apron that had been forgotten in a rush?

The smell of sinfully sweet apples that seemed everywhere?

Gone. All of it.

He tore up his own home in a fit, getting rid things he would've treasured with his life only a week or two prior.

He hated it, he hated the thought he even let them into his home. He hated himself for loving them, like he'd ever have a chance to tell them now.

Good riddance, something he figured he was supposed to say, yet he felt anything but. What he really wanted to say was some sappy thing about how much he missed them already, he almost wished he hadn't washed his bed the second they left just so he could catch the feeling of them with him once again.

He was nothing but an idiot, fueled by his own self-righteousness and a broken moral compass. He wasn't any better than them with how many things he had done, but others would tell him that he hadn't done a thing wrong.

Either way he continued his day.

This day in particular, he went grocery shopping, or vaguely attempted to.

He stepped outside waiting for a moment, nothing happened, his precious schedule had been ripped away by none other than himself.

Getting in his car he realized he'd have to go to a grocery store in Westville for the first time in months, how could he let this happen?

Why did he make this happen?

To make himself feel justified that he did something good? To finally blame something for his traumas? To blame someone that wasn't dead?

He didn't know his own intentions anymore, either way, he supposed instead of making any good argument when he kicked them out, he only really intended to hurt them like he had been hurt and that made him feel sick in a way.

His chest was beating odd, he didn't know for the life of him why, and before he even made it out of his driveway he went back into his home, hiding away in his room.

He sat down on his bed, clutching his chest at this new feeling, he almost felt renewed in a way. When was the last time he felt that way? He truly didn't know.

His house of cards was finally tumbling down, his defenses gone limp. His chest beat harshly, if only for a moment but it had felt like years and he could almost feel the presence of another, thrumming nearby.

It was gone as soon as it came, like a broken premonition whispered only in dreams, he dotted after what it could possibly have been. He hadn't had any caffeine that day, nor anything that could give him heart burn, not even participated in any strenuous activities.

It could've been triggered by feelings of love but it was so much different, he almost saw the world in a different light then, like it was all so much more vivid and alive.

He felt more alive, more stable, more anchored.

Alas, that was all but for a moment, barely a blink of sight before blindness once again.

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