Harvey and I had many memories. Some of them... Were better than others. Of course the good times outweighed the bad times in most scenarios, but things got too much. Like in most relationships, arguments are caused by what a person isn't doing, rather than the recognition of what they are doing. Within a relationship, you could give your lover a thousand roses with their favourite chocolates. No doubt it would make their entire day, unless they think roses are cliché, and a smile would light up their whole face... For a whole 5 minutes. They would eat the chocolates and by the time they were done digesting -- it would be forgotten about? On the other hand, an argument within a relationship? Now that was a different box of chocolates altogether. If an argument was a chocolate, it would be something disgusting... Like coffee. Think about it. Who likes coffee chocolates? There are some weirdos that love the coffee ones; practically thriving off the caffeine. So, the people who don't like the coffee ones leave them rotting at the bottom of the packet, until they notice it when they are throwing the box into the bin.
Maybe it's best to pick up this chocolate and eat it, while you can still enjoy it. Although it's coffee, and the taste makes you scrunch up your face, the chocolate on the outside is still as creamy as the rest of them. If you abandon this chocolate, it will sit there and manifest. Like an argument, they can cause disgusting messes if they are not eradicated.
As I sat in Harvey's kitchen, I swung my feet back and fourth from one of his chairs. My eyes panned around the room, almost associating every single object with a memory that we once shared. How could they just be gone? Poof. Into thin air. Like they didn't exist.
The kitchen almost looked the same, although the wallpaper was peeling from the walls. Not majorly, but you could see the cracks within the pristine paint. The kitchen was awfully bare now, and the more of it I saw, the more sadness weighed down my heart. The entire room was desaturated, drained of colour, since the curtains were closed. The family pictures all had a coat of dust, and the empty flower vases needed a good clean. I would offer, just for an excuse to come back and visit Harvey, but I probably wouldn't be welcome.
The first time Harvey ever said 'I love you' to me was by the counter nearest to the kitchen sink, facing away from the window. I could feel my eyes well up with water as I remembered the butterflies his deep voice gave me when it formed those three words into a sentence. Fuck butterflies. Why did they say that? My feelings were heavy, more like a herd of elephants rather than stupid, dainty insects. There was nothing fluttery, or poetic, about heartbreak. Or love in general. Which, by the way, always ended in heartbreak.
I remembered the day vividly, as if it had happened the same day. The sun hammered onto our bodies through Harvey's kitchen window. Each of his island counters were in a U shape, intertwining with each other. They contained standard things, such as a sink, a microwave and a blender. Not like the blender got used all that much, but the effort was present.
A soft, summer's breeze was escaping through the window, causing goosebumps to dance along the surface of my skin. Slithers of wind weaved in and out of the hair on my arm, causing me to shudder every time. As the wind grew stronger, my desire to slam the window shut increased. Eventually, I shifted my shivering body from one of Harvey's wooden chairs and glided towards the window.
Harvey's obsession with brownies had hit an all time peak. As school had ended, his desire to become a housewife increased. Baking brownies every day was much better than sitting inside of his room, having his eyes glued to a screen. In awe, I watched him carefully follow his mother's recipe. She had laminated it for him, and when he was finished, she would take it away and hide it in a safe place.
I had watched him create the small, packets of chocolatey goodness that on this occasion, I decided to help. An old-fashioned radio, which stood out like a sore thumb within his kitchen's decor, was balanced in the corner, between the sink and the kettle. As I shook my ass to Christina Aguilera, the smell of the baking brownies filled the entire room.
YOU ARE READING
The Man on the Moon (The Man Duology)
Teen Fiction"If the man stayed on the sun for the entirety of his life and completely ignored the moon -- his happiness would soon burn out. If the man stayed on the moon and ignored the sun, his life would be dark and full of craters. However, if the man was t...
