Our Yeah | #WattPride (Completed)

Taken

As we got to this unfamiliar place called home, I dreaded every step that my feet had stridden on the gravel. The night was young, yet I feel tired like a little kid that's been playing all day. Darkness spreads out in the night breeze around the unlit structure of our home, damp and moist air surrounding my every move towards the front porch. I don't think I can handle being far away from him.

I stare at the wooden steps of the place I once called reading corner, trying to remember the last time I've read a book there. It felt like years ago, when it was just right before summer started.

Now we're nearing the end, of all things? No, too melodramatic.

More like, the end of a summer fling. It was hardly a fling though. Castles and castles of hard work had been brought into the labor of love, then it was just thrown away as summer ended. Like a piece of crumpled paper, never to be seen or used again – totally forgotten.

I hated that feeling – this feeling.

I head up to my room, passing the old modern kitchen, the same old parents' bedroom and lastly the bathroom before I reached the meeting place of my body and bed – my bed.

Comfort. That's what's going through my mind right now, which sadly my bed cannot provide but Peter can. I set my backpack down and unzipped the bindings so I could start unpacking and maybe perhaps prepare myself for the worst moving on period ever.

I still hadn't been accustomed to the uncommon feeling of not having Peter readily accessible and it breaks my heart to know such a cursing fact. I came home from the first day of senior year after three days of self imposing myself the "grounded" status since I was too forlorn to even get up from my bed ever since we came back, same old same old.

I started to make my way to my room to mind my business – the usual routine, lie in my bed and just stare at the ceiling until mom calls me for dinner. I can't bring myself to even read, that's how much I'm torn by this, but just as I was about to make my first step on the stairs my mom calls me. Says I have mail, doesn't say from who though, but I have a clear idea on who it could be.

I took the precious letter up to my room and sat on my study table, turned on the lamp and inspected the envelope.

How would he know where to send this though? I chuckle. "Rebecca" I murmured under my breath. She must've told him our home address.

Is he near? Is he far? Can I visit him? Can he visit me?

I open the letter with a wide smile on my face that any more wider my face would break. It was from him indeed. This is Peter's hand writing, I never knew he could also write legibly and so perfectly beautiful. Must add this to the list of things I like about Peter. I can't believe it's been more than a week since I last saw him.

He says he knew my address from Rebecca. "I knew it." I whispered with a smirk.

It said he was sorry he couldn't see me off since he was the one to go away first. I know, I was there and he shouldn't be sorry. It broke my heart to see him off, but much more when I left the vacation house along with it our memories. Nothing but sweet memories.

He also wrote that he had taken something from my room back in the vacation house. Something small, but not too small, he says I can guess, but he'll never tell what it was until I get it. What an earnest minor indiscretion thing to do. I clearly remember this game very well.

His candor, one of the qualities I liked about him. Now I'm left here to think what could he have possibly taken from my room at the vacation house?

There's a return address as well. I forgot he lives in another country.

To write, or to visit?

Probably write.

Yeah, I'll write.

What did he take though?