Saying Goodbye

 

This is just one little short story I wanted to put out there because .. Well, I guess I wanted to make a little story with some kind of emotion in it (:

I don't expect much from this story, since it is small and short, but I wanted to put it out there!

Anyways, here it is!

Enjoy!

- NickyMb ! <3

** Some editing mistakes I will fix!

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It’s just one day.

One twenty-four hour period to get through and then it will all be over. It will all be worth it in the end. One day it will be all I need. 

 Somehow this little memento is the only thing that seems to get me through the day. As I lean against the fountain, water wetting my jacket and messing up my hair, I wonder how I got here. How I ended up stranded in my life with only a cigarette and and a fucked up saying to get me by. 

I was supposed to be playing an all night gig, at some place that looked like it had been fucked up since the Resistance era, but somehow I end up here, outside of some joint in the city, smoking my life away.

As I bring the cigarette that was in-between my fingers to my mouth, the only thing that seemed to keep me sane all these years, I look out at the people milling around me.

Some people look at me, wondering if I am the Lucas Daryl, and every time they try to get a look at my face, I turn my head to the right, hiding it under the stars and the night sky.

But, in a place like Paris, darkness seems to be a privilege.

It's not that I don't like the attention. Attention brings me something money and fame never could. But in these moments I wish I was like so many other people. Faceless beings on a meaningless earth. 

But, in a world were everyone seeks just a little bit of fame and fortune, being a wallflower is almost unheard of. In my life, money was the devil, my fan-base it's supplier. It was a back and forth and when I selled my soul all those years ago, I knew what I was getting into. 

I just never thought I would be stuck in it. 

My hand shakes as I bring the cigarette to my mouth yet again. Instead of getting groupies with my band mates, here I stood looking at hot couples kiss as if love was some fucking fairy tale from one of those books. They touch, kiss, talk as if love was the only thing they needed to get them through life. The one thing that could cure the disease of hate spreading it's dark cloak around the world.  

Disgusted, I flick my cancer stick on the ground, put it out with the heel of my shoe, pull on my fingerless gloves, and walk away.

Standing there and looking at all those couples staring at each other, as if they were in some kind of paradise, pissed me off. If I was being honest, it made me remember things I would much rather forget. Things I had no right to want. 

Years ago I learned what love was and what it could do to a person. If you put your heart in the wrong hands, it could mean the end of the person you were. The person you were trying to become.

Love is like a disease. It gets in your blood and infects your heart. It eats at a broken soul and seeps through non healed scars on a course of self distruction. 

Love and I just weren’t allowed to be together.

   I learned that a long time ago when the first and only girl I loved, took my heart and threw it away as if it was nothing more than glass. Just like every other broken hearted person out here, I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if the person who broke my heart never did.

I pull my hood over my hair, getting tired of the way people are staring at me now, and I walk down the sidewalk, the smell of still open bakery’s filling up the cold night air. The smells bring memories of times that were easy and when the biggest problem I had was wondering what I should wear in the morning.

Up ahead is the Eiffel tower and music seems to be coming from some little music group from below. A girl dances in the middle of a coward, moving as if she has the grace of a swan, her mind on the music and not on the people surrounding her.

Having nothing better to do, I move pass the sweaty bodies of the people around me and make my way within the group. In a night where I was trying to be unnoticed, being close to the enemy was the best way to hide.