Silent Melodrama

Prologue

"Lou, it's been a month since I saw you smiling. I'm afraid that's quite impossible since that day, but I guess I am wrong." Christine said and that for a moment, Aireen laugh.

Aireen would have been stuck in her room to be kept out from facing the reality not until she was told to face and consider reality as a prison, again.

Through a smile, Aireen faced Christine and said, "I always wanted to escape. I always wanted a way out of this pain. But it seems like everyday, the more I am trying to be free, the more desperate I am to lift away the wind-buffeted darkness of pain."

"But, you are happy right? I don't know what you mean." Christine asked at last.

"Yes, every word you say is true. I am happy 'cause I've been chasing happiness and learned that it was useless. It was a mistake. But now? I am happy because I am living with pain and I've done marvelously well streaming up for a new adventure."

🐾

I tried to remember who we were. Our names were familiar to the point that I bothered why: I'd never heared it. And well, maybe most of my peers were like–"Oh, screw you!"

And they might sure as I tried to cross my memories–unconsciously spoke that makes them turned their gazes on me in an answer: "So, there is nothing more cruel than this. I died halfway up the winds. I cried blindly either in the very direction from which–stirring up nothing out of this." So shall it be; friendship might fade, feelings might fadely pondered but the memories will just remain.

Now–I, staring his companion's cliff to open waters. While–he, fearing the current where trust timbers. At once, we enclosed on either side; tied together, surfing the courses of friendship that lies. But since, I, myself, am breaking the current fadely that were pondered deeply in my spirit, I tried to felt his affection in glee. But I saw something, half-awake, along the billows of the sea.

It was we and within the shadow of false hope, was I—drowning and left alone. Weighting our frienship, twisting the void. She was chained in lies as I was trapped in the water's motion. And I am sure, in tender–I have done wrong. But by those dull eyes, he is still pure to see as I asked myself: "How could thy be so good to me?"

Hence, as melancholic as she: 'tis love of mine, I said–"Look it be done! Look into my eyes!" the sky know it's a waste of time and must not now bestow a smile.

Is everything predestined? Am I suppose to love her? Or, am I suppose to give up?