Blog. ┆Muke [On HOLD]

2014.11.17

The drawings kept being left behind my door every single morning, sometimes making my face light up with a smile, sometimes just tearing my fake happiness away. I missed Luke, without a doubt, and these little pieces of him was something to keep me going; even when I wasn't going anywhere.

They were the only thing that kept me sane, after talking with my mother.

"Oh, they kicked you out?" She didn't even try to act nicely when I called for a help. "No wonder."

"I was sick."

"That's what you said about the school."

"Not that kind of sick. Oh, that's what I said about you two."

Ever since I dropped out from school, and my father broke the bonds with her, she went on a complete bitch mode, and I won't sugarcoat my opinion on  her no more. 

She just spewed, that she doesn't need me at her place, and she will pay off my rent until I'll get a job.

She just loves kicking me when I'm down.

Not today, I have to tell myself when I get back to deep of bashing on everyone who ever did a thing to me, and re-watch every little image left by Luke. I knew, today there was something more important to do, and I could already hear it coming.

I could hear it by his steps in the corridor, coming to leave another little note behind my door, another little piece of his mind, of his mind about me.

I held the drawings from October 22nd to November 7th, as I opened the door, looking down at him,   with his hand almost reaching for my doormat to put his mark on it.

"What are you doing Luke?" My voice shook like never before.

He looked down, and then, at me. I have never forgotten how beautiful his eyes are, but now they made me shiver.

"I? I draw you every day." His smile was that little innocent grin, again. "I always loved to capture my dreams on a paper."

He handed me a one more sketch, just one more to the collection.

It was that little scene that prisoned me in my room, that little scene that tore me away from him, that seed the sadness in my heart.

A boy with his pale pink hair, and a boy, with his quiff falling on his face, staring at each other. It wasn't a ballpoint pen sketch, it was a pastel painting this time.

"2014.11.09 You're more than a friend, I knew it from the first sight."  

I felt my eyes getting watery, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"Mikey, I wasn't the only one who's blind over here." His finger directed my chin up, with his palms cupping my chubby cheeks.

Now, I was smiling.

We both were smiling.

He tastes like sweet tea.