Take Me To The Lake

Charles Anderson

"I can't do this anymore," he had said a few months ago. Maybe years? Maybe days? Hours? Seconds? "You have to go. Leave me." And then, he walked away. Just like that. He left me behind. He left our complicated friendship behind. He left it all behind.

I couldn't even sleep anymore. I mean, of course, I try to sleep. And I do. And when I do, the same nightmare keeps me company. The nightmare of that awful day. Could it still be called a nightmare when it's just a memory, repeating itself over and over and over again?

Every time the clock ticks, I can only feel that feeling of total desolation. That feeling when he left me standing there, in the middle of the rain. Was there even a rain? Was it even raining that time? Or was it a storm? Or was it my eyes?

It's like whenever I close my pathetic teary eyes, all I see is him. The picture of him, surrounded by pure blackness. That memory of that time at that place, again and again. And that feeling. Again and again and again.

My jet black heart is shattered into many pieces. Even if I try, I couldn't count those broken pieces. I couldn't. It's nothing like counting the positive things to live in this world. Are there even any? If you're one of those jolly, content hippies, you would give billions of your reasons to live. I'm sorry; I'm not like that. Since he is no longer with me, I'm free to go. I could just kill myself and get it over with. But I can't. Maybe he could still change his mind. Maybe he could still take back the words that stabbed me. Maybe it can all go back to the way it was before. Maybe, just maybe. So I hold on to that.

My mind is revolving in the daily routine: I wake up. I take a shower. I eat. I go to school. I go home. I eat. I sleep again. And then it goes all over again. I'm not really living anymore. I'm dead. Not literally, but certainly, I'm dead. What's the point? Honestly. What is the point?

I try to make things easy. But what is easy? Life was easy when Ian and I were still friends. But how could I make things easy now? How is that even possible? How can I do something without even thinking of him?

I walk to the nearest coffee shop and stay there. I go to the counter and order the first thing I see. I smile at the barista as he gives me my coffee and my change. He looks like Ian. I go to the corner, eyeing the last table available in this Starbucks branch. I flip open my phone and find Ian's messages.

Ian: charles, im so sorry.

Ian: hey, pls reply.

Ian: r u receiving this?

Ian: cmon, charles. im sorry. i mean it.

I reply with what's left of my dignity. My eyes are numb; I can't feel a thing. But maybe I do feel something. Maybe I do feel the wetness of my tears that makes me feel so bad. But maybe it's just Ian's ghost.

Charles: its too late

I add two more words before it's sent. It's funny that a five lettered word could leave a black hole in my heart. A black hole that sucks all of my hopes and dreams into it and dissolves all of those positive things. A black hole that leaves no positive thing behind. A black hole that kills.

Charles: leave me.

He doesn't reply. Maybe he doesn't want to. Maybe he never did. And that thought of him not wanting to talk to me makes me even sadder. Isn't funny that I could get any sadder? The desolation of my heart is too much to handle. The emptiness is too much. It's too much, too heavy. It's ironic that my heart is too empty and I can't carry it anymore. An empty heart is heavier than a full one. A full one is in one piece. It's full of Love and Attention. An empty one is full of Nothingness. Nothingness is heavier than Love and Attention.