half of my heart // hs ON HOLD

two

674 Days Before 

I was an idiot and very preoccupied with locking myself in my little apartment on the second floor above a music studio which I am never so lucky to say that I am the owner of, just the one that can say that I spilled a coffee on a really cool girl in a yellow thick sweater and black combat boots who was chill enough to wing me in and give me a place to stay after I screamed fuck and yelled at her for two minutes and twenty six seconds.

Sometimes I took a nap approximately around three thirty four because the young boy that always wore black was always exactly four minutes late to his piano lessons, but let me tell you, he was a god with those fingers, he could play miles of beauty and I was so stunned from a whole new level that I caught myself humming along to a tune I recognized him playing quite a lot on the snowy afternoon exactly five days after running into forest boy. 

I haven't thought about him much, but I am hoping you picked up on that lie and realized that I have thought about his rose petaled lips carving a smile into my heart in hell almost every living minute. I also haven't touched the book since, I didn't do anything with it, it's sitting on the fireplace untouched by life and smirking at me every time I try to walk by, which I am now limiting to only two times a day.

I plan on burning that piece of shit. Normally I don't find myself clogged in my now burning sheets because I've been too lazy and corrupt to try to move out of my position, so yes, I sweat and cry and scream and sing and say as many profanities as possible, at the top of my lungs, until I'm dripping through the sheets and sitting by the air vent about two feet from the door, which was beginning to hurt my ass.

So I got up, and I sung along to a song that made me feel like I was made to have nine thousand seven hundred and thirty eight notes on tumblr, but I could only imagine myself to look like I have experienced death at least three to seventy six times.

I was a rebel today, I was now passing the book three times, but it just smiled at me, fire dancing in the corners as eyes appeared, my name haunting me from the spine of the devil, and I just stared. I was battling with myself. That book, that book had caused me this, that book has caused my butt bone to ache from sitting on top of the air vent so much because I am snuggled into my bed so much because I can't get the image of that sly smile that should be in Alice in Wonderland.

We're all mad here, I'm mad, you're mad. 

And that was enough to win the war against myself, and I continued to ignore the book and yes the mocking got worse, and then I began to mock myself, and the worse possible scenario occurred and I finally realized that I was crazy, insane.

So I left, I sprinted down the spiral black stairs, hobbling down the dripping alley way from the back of my apartment and continued my adventure to Chompy's. I needed to see a glimpse of the forest, I needed to admire the tree limbs, to stare at the brances, the rusting leaves that began to curl, I needed it.

Twenty seven minutes later and I could write a novel on disappointment. Who the hell is addicted to burning your throat every single day and living on a bar stool in front of a foggy window for two to three hours and flipping fellow citizens off for their cheery attitudes because you don't want to admit to yourself that you have nothing better to do- me.

So don't ask me why I was so shocked that he wouldn't show up when I wanted him too.

And I was alone, alone at six forty nine in the coffee shop on the corner in front of a record store and two stores to the left of the checkered cafe that would be used in Grease and makes the best banana milkshakes and cheeseburgers.

I found myself drooling at the images of the baby yellow wonderland resting beneath a mountain of creamy white beauty with a striped straw smiling up at me as I moaned mid bite in the most amazing burger you've ever tasted, and before I counted to ten, I was sitting on the swirly red bar stool ordering a banana milkshake with a cheeseburger no lettuce, tomato, or onions.

I hadn't done anything to deserve the sound of the bell chiming indicating the arrival of another customer, my head slightly wondering to the left just a little, maybe just to take a glance at how whoever had just walked in was happier than me, but as my eyes wondering over long skinny legs and honey glowing skin with bloody petaled cheeks and lips and piercing eyes and a charming smile with a never ending torso and chestnut locks twirling in happiness on top of pale skin- I found myself exploding.

Truly admirably considerably insanely wonderfully actually exploding in every way possible. My skin began to tingle and I found my legs swinging with the patience that was at the number zero. I was screaming on the inside and I had to look away or someone might actually see me smile.

No, I have never felt like this in my life, never in all of the years I've spent my miserable life, never, never, never, never, and I hope I never have to feel it again. My skin is boiling, my toes are curling, my fingernails are cutting crescent moons into my palms, my teeth or fighting against each other worse than any boxing match as I didn't dare look to see where forest boy was now.

Did I do something nice? Had I given a dollar to a homeless man recently? The only memory that stuck to my skull was the branched boy's smile and the time I accidentally knocked down some kid's bag of jelly beans and didn't even apologize, which was pretty shitty of me yeah, but I didn't really care then.

And that's when I lost it. I felt different, I was genuinely trying to change for a boy that belonged in the forest who might actually be the biggest dick, a bigger one than me, but I don't know that, I'm just trying my hardest not to show that I am beginning to go mentally insane on the inside because a boy with nice teeth and pretty eyes smiled at me.

And to get even worse, he walked right up to me and sat down on the stool to my right. For the first time I was questioning every concern girls were supposed to concern about. Is my hair frizzy, did I put enough deodorant on, why didn't I put more makeup on, do I look like shit, am I smiling weird, what am I doing, why am I nervously laughing to myself silently, does he think I'm weird, why did I just look away, why am I not saying hello, why am I not answering his polite question, why am I still talking to myself, what the fuck? 

And then I snapped out of it, "I'm okay," that was shit. Do I say it back? Do I say anything at all? Pretty sure I ask too, "How are you?"

He nodded and smiled, "I'm hanging in there."

And then I smiled back.

I watched with admiration as he ordered a strawberry smoothie and kid's chicken fingers, I listened as his vocabulary was strong, his language rough with an accent that made my thighs heat up, he explained how he ate a piece of pizza an hour ago and two brownies around four. He then went into detail on how he should be at least four hundred pounds and then I laughed, and he laughed, and I felt my insides smile too.

We ate in silence, at least I did. I kept my mouth shut, sipping my milkshake as he did the same, my hands clammy as my eyes focused on the way his lips looked like warm Valentine cookies right out of the oven, his lips coated in a milky red that made my breath just a little harder to breathe every minute longer I stared.

The closer it got to empty drinks and clean plates, the more my heart began to ache. This was only luck, I only get a little bit of that about once every five years, and the last time I checked, I haven't had good luck since eleventh grade when I got a ninety eight on my history exam- and that can only mean that this short happiness will soon run dry and I will never feel this alive again.

"I'm Harry by the way."