Youth [h.s.]

Prologue Introduction.

[not a necessary read]*

What is 'love'? It's quite possibly one of the most asked questions we ask ourselves. Perhaps also question the integrity of love. Why we find ourselves so obsessed with it. So consumed. You may imagine love being lightless, effortless, and even natural. You imagine it to be the most beautiful thing on earth ever to be told, that it is simply so plentiful and nourishing. A balance in your life that just 'completes you'--but truth be told, it isn't what we all painted it out to be. It isn't rose petals on a silky bed or eternal nights enriched with genuine laughter. This isn't a pessimistic outlook but a reality. Love is effort, dedication, and a lot of times; pure blissful agony. A complete absolute shit is what it is. Those stories fed to us on a heaping spoon about knights in shinning amours don't exist, you find that the laughter is forced, smiles are plastered on, and everything you once knew is a complete and utter lie. You give, and give, and give and it is almost always taken for granted and thrown on the floor like a piece of useless waste.

And you know what?

It is. Love is a just a desire everyone craves. The disgusting false warmth to be filled by someone else because one simply can't fill it themselves. A need and crave to matter. To mean importance to someone else. That balance is never there, the yelling, arguing, and crying never seems to halt. You're just.. exhausted  by the end of the day and find yourself uncomfortable lying next to someone in the same bed that by then seems like a stranger, repeating to yourself like a prayer for it to be true about how much you love them but never really asking; 

Why?

He met him when I met her. His name was Bale Lomen. Bale as in bail and Lomen as, well, Lomen. Perfect last name if you ask him, he was as low as men got. He's sure that at some point in time they could've gotten along, in some ways they were similar. And although he never ever wants to admit it, something that revealed itself as a continuous flaw and string within their realtionship that tore at the seams, jealousy bubbles like a pit of boiling water every time he thinks of them together. Besides that, he appreciates the example he sees in them. She once told him her favorite that Bale had tattooed was a quote by Walt Whitman; "Re-examine all that you have been told... dismiss that which insults your soul."

She was a beauty to behold, the most rich of souls to ever meet with sad eyes full of mystery yet at the same time the most lively eyes he's ever seen. Naive, cautious, and lively girl of golden skin from Brooklyn. Whenever you meet her, you'll spot written scribbles all over her skin from the lack of paper she has supplied, beautiful breathtaking poetry inked her skin from any writing utensil she could get her small, slender fingers around. She'd contemplated getting tattoos, the option thin to none from the thousands of writings she would want painted over her body. When he met her, she had the most simple and effective line over the bottom of her wrist that changed my perspective on life and existence for what I hope to be forever.

"We dare speak but our lips remain sealed with desires to overcome deep hunger only to perish in lies knowing nothing but pure agony."

His name is Harry Styles, her name is Anathéma Hill, and we thought ourselves as some of the most beautiful pieces of walking, breathing art. 

And she was. 

December 25th.