I miss him // Luke Hemmings

1- Time Heals Pain

           

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It was a cloudy morning, Luke and I were 5 years old, sitting on the front porch of my house; we could hear our mothers laughing inside while sipping their hot tea and biting into their chewy cookies. We were trying to arrange a puzzle, but failing miserably because Luke was too shy to move. He just sat there with a half-eaten cookie in his hand, watching my short hair fall into my eyes, every time I tried to brush them behind my ears.

I remember it so vividly, like it was this morning. Luke was so quiet back then, he rarely spoke the first few months after we met. His family had just moved right next door, and we were coincidently in the same school. My parents and his parents got a long rapidly, I can never imagine how my life would be without Luke in my life.

I remember finally finishing the puzzle. I jumped from excitement and happiness, squishing my cookie into the white-painted wood, Luke gave me half his cookie as my mum unwillingly cleaned the mess up. I still have the photo of Luke smiling as he sat next to the puzzle on the front porch that day, and I wore a weak smile with tears filling my eyes, as cookie crumbs covered my chin and finger tips.

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Every time I try to calm myself down, the memories come rushing like flashbacks hitting me violently; making me feel nostalgic and sad.

I sit on the floor of my bedroom, with my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs. I feel the tears run down my cheeks, and my lower lip trembling uncontrollably. I feel this helpless feeling inside of me, I want to scream. How can he do this to me?

I take out my phone, and scroll through my contacts with shaky fingers, I find Luke's contact.

I hesitate, but I click on 'Call'.

I wait.

"Come on, Luke," I whisper feeling the tears moving faster down my cheeks. It beeps one last time, then the call ends.

I sigh. The prevalent feeling of sadness covers me. I feel like I'm inside a layer of cerulean slime, a blue bubble. I can't do anything about it, and it hurts.

Luke was close to me. We knew everything about each other. He was my best friend. He and I, we were compatible; like sprinkles and ice cream, or milk and tea. We fit together like puzzle pieces.

He was so close to me, that I isolated myself without realizing it. Luke was the only important thing in my life, and I didn't realize how much he meant to me until I lost him.

When I lost him, I lost myself, as well. When I lost him, I watched myself fall apart.

I stopped caring. I felt depressed, I was depressed. I didn't eat for days. I stopped studying hard. I became antisocial and developed an unhealthy habit of getting a panic attack at least once a day. And the problem is, I can't do anything about it. I'm always worried about getting a panic attack, yet I can't do anything about it.

           

My parents are too busy with their stressful jobs, all I have to do to trick them is to smile at the dinner table and drink my soup, or eat half of the sandwich my dad makes, even though it was distasteful.

I miss him.

Luke and I, we used to study together. He was the smart one, he always helped me with my projects and tutored me whenever I had a physics exam. But after he left, all I had was the internet, and disappointing C's taunting me on my exam papers. My parents realized the burning scar Luke had left on me. They tried to cheer me up the first few months but gave up, eventually, like I thought they would.

Luke is gone, he is gone and he is not coming back.

I miss him.

No amount of money or hugs I get from my mum will bring him back. No new phone or going to the therapist will bring him back. He's gone. Luke left.

I call him twice a week. Sometimes twice a night, when I'm crying into my pillow, or when I finish reading a romance book.

I need Luke.

But, unfortunately, and that is the sad truth; Luke in fact does not need me.

           

Almost every night he posts a photo with a blue-tinted filter on his Instagram of him on stage with a smirk. A fucking smirk. Or a selfie of himself and one of his bandmates, that I once used to sit with at lunch in school.

I keep thinking that they don't remember me. Luke might even have forgotten that I exist.

I can't blame him, he is having the time of his life. Writing songs, singing them, playing them on stage, watching thousands of people singing it back to him. He's living his dream. He always wanted to be a singer. We were seven years old and he used to draw a stick man with a yellow crayon for his hair while a banana looking stick was drawn on his legs. (Turns out that was supposed to be a guitar.)

He was never the artistic one. On the other hand, I was. I still am. I love drawing, painting, sketching. Everything. I always draw scenes of my memories as a child with Luke, or my other friends.

I sigh again, and stand up. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and lay down on my bed.
I tried tweeting Luke, send him a direct message on Instagram, snapchat him. Anything. But I never got reply. I get it, I watch thousands of people tweet him everyday ten thousand times, and honestly, I feel my heart break a little every time he replies to a fan.

That could have been me.

I miss him. I miss him so much.

After tweeting and spamming him for about two years, I gave up. I haven't checked his twitter or anything related to him in over a year now.

You would think you would get over someone after three years of not being with them, or that time heals pain but that's all bullshit. I inhale and exhale, I get up from my bed and force myself to sit at my desk. The cover of my thick math textbook stares at me. I start to laugh. A few seconds later, I feel like my toned abs are hurting and I wipe the tears from my eyes.

I laugh at how pathetic I am, because I am. I'm pathetic, melodramatic, and frankly stupid.

I'm obsessing over a boy. A boy.

Yet, he is a boy who wrote his name on my heart. A hiccup emerges from my mouth, giving me a start. A laugh once more for a little while, and I realize how good it feels to laugh, to smile, to act as if I don't have a single care for the world.

It feels good, until you stop laughing and you look at your math book and realize, shit. My math final is after tomorrow and I didn't even begin studying.

At least my summer vacation is five days away. All I have to do is focus a little bit on my studies, and if I make it through this week, I will reward myself by getting  ice cream, and buying a puzzle that has 1000 pieces.