Spahallolia

the call

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It feels like as if yesterday I was filled with love for you. I was skipping heartbeats at your texts and smiling uncontrollably whenever you'd compliment me. It's funny how in a matter of a few months you stole my smiles and gifted me tears and I, being happy with whatever you gave me even fell in love with that. I write and I write to get out whatever's inside my head and it's mostly a mixture of how you loved me and how you left me . I am trying to swim but these thoughts drown me. I don't know where I am. Each day as my ink meets the paper I write our story . I am trying to forget you and remember you at the same time and it's making me insane because I ain't getting better at either.

It started exactly one year ago from now. The same place, same way and the same feelings.which seem as old as a manuscript to me now. Its just forgotten by time like history but cherished forever. I was alone yet happy and carefree of his existence. His name was Mike Robinson. As much as he was proud of his game he was proud of whoever he was. He had a strange attitude towards people and his ego was possibly his biggest problem. It was the same time as of now. Mid November when the tournament had started. We had hopped on our trains and did a sufferable journey to be sleeping for five days in drenching heat and horrifying insects of all kind. I believe somebody was suppose to call the national geographic channel for their research. It was however very enjoyable being with friends and laying from morning to night on the green grass.caressing the leaves and going through the green streaks with their soft touch against every inch on my skin. Shouting our throats out for being the perfect teams and to show the undying support . a bizarre tanned skin and rough asses back home were things that weren't really our concerns at the moment. Clearly,it was the time of our lives. It was however a pity that just five days that can bring almost 30 people closer than blood will forever be remembered and brought about in interesting conversations or those sudden fits that strike with every memory doing nothing but as simple as cleaning dishes that make their lips curl in a smile and later on an empty sigh.

On a Monday morning mostly when everything's going wrong just to be right again for the next six days . however , minds chatter and blabber and mine complains like a little child but I still pretend to be normal. It's a funny habit of mine to enlargen my eyes to look a little attractive. No, not the type that just popped in your head, I don't really want to scare people away. I just try to maybe imitate the way our eyes light up with passion when we talk of something we love. The ocean that rages inside with it's high tide and that fire that burns with it's mention. I used to try that you know, broaden my orbs a bit but then I realized that it didn't looked that great because I certainly never had that spark that'd cause that rush inside me. Like thunderstorms and snow and tsunami all at once inside me. I never got that glow and I stopped trying because I lacked that one passion.the type of you'd die for and then one day I loved you, it did magic . you know why? Because even if someone would mention your name a mile from where I'd be standing I'd turn around, bewildered and stare blankly with no emotions on my face but then if anyone looks into my eyes they'd find everything that I had lost returning and not just glowing but set on fire. My pupils as large as a black hole that try to gasp every inch and my eyes the beautifully round moon, that's just turning into it's own sun . that's what it felt just a little bit of you did so wonders to me then imagine what could have happened if I got you as a whole.

Ever since then that glow is lost. It's hidden and concealed as if it's a scar and just buried deep into the layers of my eyes. ' do they gleam again?'-if you ask, then yes, they do. After what they've been through but they lose every reason to do so. It's a crime now so instead they just flood with tears to never show what beauty they conceive.

Such tragedy? No,such love

That Monday morning as I curled up against my pillow and pulled it closer to my arms I was dreaming with a huge smile on my face. I dreamt of a boy somebody unknown, who I didn't even reckonize. Heck, it was a dream but such dreams aren't frequent to me just as such incidents are. I might be a little off track and lost but in that one second it felt like I had commant of the ocean. Like I was focused at what I actually might want. Slowly with the lost track of time and no worries in my sleep , the only way we escape the truth. A reality we run away from by staying still for so long. It's funny how we run away to be saved while we can just stop running and save ourselves. 'morning', I said aloud.i tried no longer for I knew this morning I shall spent with my soltitude. No one was home, it's Monday afterall. I sighed as I pushed my pillow away and stretched my arms. A huge yawn went missing, I smiled just at this thought and got myself out of my warm bed. Mondays usually suck not because they get you right back to where you belong but they really do suck the life out of people. This Monday was different for me for I had slept a good night's sleep and lived my little ecstasy . I supposed everyone to be in school so there wasn't any point calling anyone. Hell, I was bored. So I just randomly started scrolling through my numbers picking out people who I haven't caught up with when suddenly I got a call. It was from Shelly an old friend. Shelly was super tom boyish infact I even doubt if she was a boy which she would definitely seem if her tresses weren't so long and lovely. The type I'd die for but instead she'd just complain everytime we'd admire them.she was beautiful in her own way. You kow, the type when there is nothing so unusual or admirable but kind of a little 'aww' that comes into your mind whenever they are mentioned. No one of friends ever really saw what I found in her but I'd just laugh it off everytime saying 'if I were a boy, she'd definitely be my crush'. If you are wondering why aren't I just asking her out it's just normal or if you're just one word ahead towards closing this book and rolling your eyes at me with your judgemental mind then STOP! But if you're the second type then I feel genuinely sorry for who you are and how you live with this sad mind of yours that sees nothing but hate out of such a sacred thing like love and i would love to change this thought of yours someday but now we need to focus back to where we were. So, I'm just saying that maybe our concepts of love and beauty are different. Some people love white, black or brown or some people love white and pure minds with love and peace , some in love with dark ideas and mysteries and some in awe of the neutrals that mostly everyone shows they have but it's always the extremes. we eat or we don't, we speak or we don't snd just like that we love or we don't. to me there's no in between and honestly I believe there shouldn't be. How can someone be with a person they love and not actually be desperately, inconsiderably , over the board insane about it? It just sets me off that if it ain't love then what is it? If you aren't hopelessly in love everytime you see in your lover's eyes the my dear, you probably don't know love. In between all my ideas and her personification a familiar tone reminded me of reality. It was of my buzzing phone. Shelly called. If I had a time machine or before that I would like to ask you what you'd do with it? Travel the future to see what it looks like or travel to the past to experience an era unknown. I'd say that I'd throw away that fucking phone. To never pick up that call for that one regret has costed me a million tears and unfortunately maybe that isn't the cost of a time machine .

VA