How To Survive Love

1- Why Me?

1926 - Dresden

At the table, I sat there, nervous. The eyes of my father grew rather narrow and grim, his electric blue beads staring into my soul, determined to percieve any fault of mine as villainous. With all the sweat produced, I felt like I could drown in a sea of unwanted distrust, delightfully given to me by the head of the ship, my father. My eggsandbread didn't taste like a flavorless glass of water, like usual, but a bucket of red paint riddled with lead, making it hard for me to swallow my food adequately.

But as everyone concluded their breakfast, I wanted to savor my glass of orange juice that I ignored during the meal. I thought the drink could clear up my uneasiness clouded unpleasantly in my throat. But the juice didn't gratify my situation, and it ironically performed the opposite as the the wet glass slid from the tips of my fingers, and broke, with all the contents spilling out, further providing justification of my clumsiness and sinful behavior to my father.

My father's knitted brows tightened even more, and the tears from my eyes and the beats of my heart began to multiply rapidly.

"I am sorry. J-just for-forgive me." My apology was spoken through the black and gray rainbow struggling to communicate words opposite to puny and emotional. My mother, sweet and cordial, acted upon me quickly by whispering concern and care into the ears that had a hard time garnering words of encouragement due to a lack thereof.

Greatly discontented, my father rose from the table violently, causing all the forks, bowls, glasses, and plates to shiver in fright as he fled from the emotional chaos. I understood him perfectly, as I would too escape my emotional instability. The tears from my eyes formed a puddle of fragility, accompanied with copious amounts of pain and gloom. The smile I would create sorely as a facade to hiding my inner thoughts and feelings was artificial. The friendly attitude I brought was dubious and ugly, as the flowers would die in my presence knowingly.

But this whole time, I knew I hated myself. It just took a bit of realization.

........................................................................

Otto
His lips are plump and pink, but soft and supple. His eyes, like mine, are pools of blue, but brighter and bolder.
I like the way his nose stands up straight and tall, perfect and thin. I wish I could ruffle his hair playfully, as he bounds his arms around me like a bow, kissing my cheek lovingly.

Secluded, I recorded all the attributes of every handsome boy that gracefully roamed the halls of my school, and inserted them into my fantasies regarding me in a romantic relationship with them. This act was not exempt from many forms of harrasment as it was not only girly and sentimental, but awkward and sick to many of the peers at my school. Luckily, nobody had ever looked into my diary, only assuming that it was trash from the cover, but I still upheld cautionary methods of being discreet as revealing it would tarnish my image forever.

But I never understood why I had to keep it in secret. The reasons besides me having to go through some sort of punishment are almost non-exsistent, or abitrary for that matter. Why can't I just stop going through moments of self-denial and hate, and just admit I can fall hard and fast for a boy? Why does society have to communicate strong feelings of disgust towards me kissing a man I love?

But I learned this the hard way when I accidentally exposed my diary to my father a few days later. From then on, I stopped asking those questions, and replaced them with questions of 'why me?'

Why me?