Short Stories

Him

My mind echos of the good memories of him. The way I used to laugh when he does something stupid or smiling at him when he shows me that I am truly beautiful.

A life without him seemed unbearable, unseen. It was heart wrenching to watch him go and lead me behind but once he was back in my arms everything felt okay, nice even. Everything seemed fine. Everything in the right place.

The logical choice was to choose him over everything else. Even if I had to lose myself and pick up the pieces that he broke into sharp shards that could slice anyone.

The sharp shards acting as blades to a knife and was ready to cause any harm that dare so touch it. Even if it was the owner.

I was too comfortable in seeing the color crimson instead of seeing the harm that it was causing me. The way the blade nipped at my skin leaving behind a trail of scars and blood.

I missed my once perfect body. The one that I use to adore and loved. I missed the good memories of him. I envy the memories of my once happy self when I was with him. How naive I was to follow in pursuit with his actions. How naive and careless I was to let his cold fingers dance along to my warmth.

Oh, how naive I was when I brought him back to the shores of my heart. The way he plucked out his words and whispered them to my ears for me to agree upon them. For him to cloud my judgment and filled them instead with worries, anger and fears.

I wish the boy that I gave a chance to was there. I wish he never makes me feel like this. I wish I wasn't a naive and dumb person to fall for his ways. I wish he gave true to his words instead of letting them fall with closed ears and through the cracks.

I wished I would have not be so careless with my heart and wore it proudly on my sleeve. I wish I let myself change and be a different type of person.

Oh I wish him to be mine. But the heart that yearns for you doesn't anymore. The brain that wanted you doesn't have a clue of what you have become. I yearn for the good memories, and want to go back for those times.

But my hands can't simply handle that type of power. I can't simply go back a few pages to where I was happy. I wish I could but we both know that the only person who can is far from our reach.

I'm sorry I would rather run away than let myself hate him more than what you think I do. Let the idea of the once ideal boy go to waste, for that, I am sorry.