She checked the forecast that day, even though she didn't plan to go out. She didn't have school that day too, because there was a super typhoon coming. Maybe she was scared, or threatened, though truthfully she didn't care about herself. She seemed to not care about anything anymore. Because everything was going in a cycle- in a rounded up routine, it seemed too hard to care all together, all at once.
She seemed too happy about the rain, she seemed to smile at the sky when it darkened, because that's how some people are, they prefer rainy days than better ones,
They prefer silence over pleasure, white than of gold.
Ahh...
She thought, while listening to the droplets of rain and gust of wind
Silence is but golden
In grace, she opened her door and sat on the white sofa-chair. She placed her phone on this megaphone-like contraption that amplified and graced all sound that entered it. Few starts of the piano, she recognized the keys.
Kashiwa Daisuke's Rain playlist
Harmony ran through the room like strings on batons, and she gripped her knees closer to her face.
This must be happiness
She thought, her hands grasped around her legs as it was curled against the sofa. In a long time, she'd forgotten what happiness was, she'd forgotten how to feel it in such an empty body, in such an empty space. Maybe that's what happens when you lose something so important, when you try to forget something that cannot be forgotten.
Word-less piano masterpieces wooed her enough to bury herself in it. Sometimes, silence was better than listening to scary voices. She'd downloaded podcasts to listen to in the morning, hoping Cry's voices could redirect it. Hoping she'd get over him even at the slowest pace, even in mornings, where she'd consider it impossible.
His presence stuck around her. His scent, a musky-earth hybrid of fresh and Irish Spring, would sometimes haunt her in leftover T-shirts. Even in mornings, where she'd clasp to her blanket and see his frame, clasping unto hers, and kissing her head, waking up to that it was no longer there. In afternoons, where she'd walk by the old café, and reminisce on the times he joked about her eating like a total scum and how 'unladylike' she was and how embarrassing it was to be seen eating with her.
In evenings, where she was too tired to talk to him, and get upset at him for everything he does. Where they fought about the laundry getting mixed up and staining his shirts. Of course, she'd never admitted to doing it. She always knew he never visibly shown affection for her to anyone else, or shows any emotion in that case.
She always knew, in dark evenings, he was never the romantic type. Ever since they were in college, in her Psychology classes, he was very quiet, mysterious even. And place his pride over almost anything. He had a vulgar way with words, never needing to sugar coat whatever he had to say. She even remembered once, in her morbid days class, he told the professor on how he "looked like a total broke stripper getting high on The Rail" that was probably the first time she noticed him. She grew curious, infatuated with his mysterious figure. Before everything else, he seemed so foreign, so different, so secluded. Like he closed up all his walls because he was annoyed with the shit in this world.
They'd hardly talk to each other during her University days, and when he finally asked her to be his girlfriend, she was charmed, on how prideful he said ''hey.. I kind of like you, you brat"
Even though she was fully committed to him being her lover, visiting his locker every day, he never showed any significant ways of showing his affection towards her. He was always so uptight and always insulted her in her stupid behavior. When she tried and hugged her in the campus, he'd always try and tug her off because he said it's so unsightly to look at PDA but she hugged him tight, and he'd sigh and hug her tight, clasping his white hand around her ebony hair.
