Ink Blots

cinq

dear north;

The idea of black holes became less terrifying as soon as I started falling for you.

You remind me of one: a somewhat terrifying concept that, upon coming to life, takes all that can be loved or despised in. You never had enough of anything, not of me, not of living, not of sleeping in your car, not of throwing bombs at your father's  bullets.

You were a nuclear explosion, North; patiently waiting to turn the universe upside down and make it question its existence. I, however, am an  impatient rocket, burning my fuel by just breathing.

When you didn't call after our date, I pretended not to be hurt. But can you blame me? Your kiss made every atom in my body vibrate, in anticipation of more, more, more of the adrenaline that was you.

I gave in and asked Val, just as we finished our lesson. She, with the loveliest twinkle in her eye, told me that she wanted you and I to be in love. I asked if she knew where you were, if the chaos at home had been mended, if she was okay.

Val shook her head and cried for half an hour. Taking her time, she told me that coming to the lessons were the best part of this week.

"Val. Are you hurt?" I asked.

Something softened in her, and I couldn't understand how that was possible: your sister was a cloud of satin, one that couldn't get sunshine without blocking it. She showed me the bruises on her upper arm.

I took her face in my hands. "You're not going back there. Okay? I'll talk to your brother and figure something out. Is that okay with you?"

I called my house your home by instinct, perhaps knowing that I would be your four walls, your roof, your safe haven.

"Dad will be mad," her eyes were wide.

"I will keep you safe," I spelled out the word safe at her confusion. "I promise. North is coming for you, I'm sure."

She was so beautiful, Valerie. She was the gold to your silver: a beam of light that did not know where to shine. I wanted to keep her hidden in my heart, shield her from all the wounds she would get if she went back: but I was so, so scared, North. 

I was terrified.

You were late that day, your sister fell asleep on my couch as soon as the aroma of chamomile tea touched her insides.  It was already 9 pm, you were supposed to be here four hours ago.

And I know, North, I know that you've always told me to not worry about you. That you would always come home to me, that I was your heart and you couldn't very well live without your heart, could you?

"North," I gritted my teeth. The moon hit you perfectly and I yearned to mimick it. "You're late."

"Lilac," you smiled. "You look stressed as fuck."

"You expect me not to be stressed? Your sister is on my couch, sleeping, right after showing me her bruises. And you, you sleep in your car and drive drunk! You expect me not to be stressed still?"

Your smile broke a little. "She told you?" Your faint whisper broke me too.

"Yes," I saw the same sadness that was there that night you came to my house every day following that. "I'm sorry, North."

Holding you for the first time was like holding a stiff board. You were a broken mirror, taped together by faint traces of love that didn't know how to be. You shattered when you hugged me back, melting into glass and pain and heartbreak. 

I'm so sorry, my love. I'm so sorry.

loving you was my apology, lilac