November Will Remember

part I

Hello!

The is the official first chapter of November Will Remember. I hope you enjoy it!

PG-13 for swearing.

i.

She's trying to show me that she's unhappy. And it tears me up completely. She's asking for forgiveness for that, too.

I can't tell Lillian anything that isn't real. Because you bloody can't feel anything when you don't want to feel it. It's that simple, there's nothing else to say. There's no making it all okay after a certain point. It's not a painting, I have no control over it.

Lillian is free as a bird. She's made her choices, and it doesn't affect her at all. This results in me being wide awake at night, while she has absolutely no trouble sleeping.

Discovering me, to her, was like discovering a broken and ruined house. It's been empty for years, as no one has wanted to live in it. As you went deeper inside, it got worse. More dust, more stains, more broken walls and creases of worry form on your forehead. You get scared that the house might fall or crumble any moment. You're unhappy with its current state, and you feel like leaving.

But the interest in the house was born out of a fascination for unique people, of course.

So as Lillian went further in, she decided that she'd rather not have the trouble of fixing a broken house and instead just leave it alone.

Lillian loves to be in movement. She can't stay in one position forever. And there's nothing to hold her down. Not even me.

She gave her heart freedom and told her mind to lead her to wherever it pleases. And it led itself away from me. Even after our nights together, lying cooped up in my small bed listening to Sufjan Stevens, after her amazing lovemaking (when Alfredo wasn't there, of course) and coffee. So when post-separation happened, I needed a new subject to dwell on and paint. Lillian used to be my subject all of the time. I'd paint her, her favourite place on the beach, her favourite time of the day. Her obsessions were mine, too.

I can't even call her my lover because I don't know what we were. Although I think she is always a temporary part of someone's life.

I then gave up— something I never do as I always love to finish what I started, whether it's a painting or my life with someone. And since the latter didn't happen, I started to look around for something new. I physically searched for inspiration as I'm always hungry for it.

And then I found it.

I found it in a form of a dancer. So I painted her and gave her the painting yesterday. I think she liked it.

ii.

I look at the clock on the wall and decide it's time to haul myself to the bathroom. My roommate, Alfredo, is still sleeping. These dormitories are peaceful, even in the shadier, more broken down parts of the city.

Lillian has been quiet for a week now. I don't know what's happened, although I expected it. But now that I've found another subject to paint, Lillian is almost fading. Like black turns to the hues of light grey. It's a form of suffering, I think, where instability is constant. If that even makes sense. These dormitories define the place where the world has had enough of you and put you here so you'll be with other people like yourself. Lillian lives in the dorm next to me.

She had kept asking, "why don't you sell your paintings in exhibitions?" I don't think I'm that good, I want to answer. But, why should she have asked? I'm not my father, and she never seems to understand that. I never went over and asked her why hadn't she followed her father's footsteps. I never liked the man very much either way.