Still The One

Twenty-Eight

He said to me, ‘you’re perfect,
and I want you to be mine.’
But I felt I wasn’t worthy,
and to be perfect, I need time. 

I knew it would be worth it,
and I could be better if I tried. 

Then he got tired of waiting,
and I watched my chance go by.
– Lang Leav, Perfect

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Twenty-Eight
Now – June 22, 2018 ⇨ One day

The Northern Cross shone lustrously. The elements it owned were more than magical; it could distract me. I spied the trail of stars above, strewn along like the flaming tail of a comet.

Perfect vistas like this were rare. And wondrous. But out of the unlucky things in my life, I had been enthroned with the path to this angle of the world. My rooftop outlook was the same, but the aged pattern I went through wasn’t; something saddening would happen, and then I would come up here.

But I wasn’t going through anything, not anymore. I was sat here for a few hours now, and circumstantially, collecting some peace. I just thought that the concept of living on, happily, without Harry in my life, was useless. I would stay hurt for good that way. But over time, I could find my happiness too, like Harry did with Vanessa.

So at this time, although the notion was a paradox, letting go was easier than I thought, now that I wouldn’t be leaving anything behind. But it was not simple; everything in the past was to be distant, in the valley of my heart.

I cried for hours. The tears soon became acid rain, plaguing the tired crevices of my eyes. But I stopped once it struck that it would get me nowhere, and what was to come, would come.

Perchance, I could have known all along, very deep down, that this was how it was going to end. I have accepted that if I could not love him as a lover, I would love him as a friend.

My phone buzzed by my thigh. The sweet-sounding heart of the night was interrupted.

Harry .x – You’re not at home..

Sent – No.

Harry .x – So you’re..

Sent – Guess.

Needless to say, shortly after the message was mailed, the door to the rooftop opened, revealing my favorite person in the world. I heaved myself up by the elbows and watched him walk over. His walk was all tuckered out. And he had changed out of the nice clothes he had on for the rehearsal and dinner. He was now wearing a dark sweatshirt with some tattered grey sweats and an old, indigo beanie.

“Hey,” he greeted. His face seemed tired. Harry got down beside me in his ritual stance – staring right beyond at the enveloped darkness, with arms tucked beneath his head. He looked the same as he did six years ago just then.