It was the middle of the night in the middle of spring and Venus was running away from her own mind; from her own body. Her legs were running, moving as fast as they could. She didn't know where she was going, as long as it was away from herself.
After 10 painful minutes of running tears and running limbs, Venus stopped at a park she used to play at as a child. The memories float around her shoulders, around her face and they fall into her head. She wipes the tears of sadness from her face and begins to walk towards one of the old swings she used to love. She touches the cold mental chains that seem to have gathered some rust over the decade.
More tears begin to fall on Venus's angelic face, and her lips begin to make sounds of a whimper. She didn't know why she felt like this, she didn't know how to stop it either.
For a few more minutes, she cried like there was no tomorrow. Like the world was ending, and she was the one who only knew, so she cried for the world. But as she cried in hysterics and pain, what she didn't know was, a boy who attends her high school was watching her from afar with curiosity and empathy.
YOU ARE READING
the art of love
Historia Cortaa short-story of a love and a connection that could not be broken.
