Beautiful Boy

two

"Hey can you walk home by yourself? I'm going to meet my boyfriend," my friend asked, looking extremely guilty.

I mean, she loved me and she wanted to be with me. . .

But, she wants to be with her boyfriend more.

I chuckled.

"Of course I can, just don't spend too much time over there you know," I teased her, enjoying how her cheeks were getting flushed.

"Oh fuck off!" she pushed my bag, making me stagger. I let out a loud laugh, truly savouring her embarrassment.

What type of friend are you if you don't tease your friends?

"I'm going okay? I'll talk to you later," she waved me a bye, and I waved back to her.

After seeing her back disappearing from my sight, I let out a sigh.

This sucks.

The same routine, again.

I'd go home, eat a snack, then maybe watch something, and then study, maybe.

You might ask.

Why can't you spend time with your friends?

On the contrary, I do have friends.

Lots of them.

Just not ones that I can text and be myself with.

My friend looks so happy. She really does.

Do they like each other that much?

How does that feel like?

Having a love that's mutual.

Having a mutual feeling of affection.

All these ideas are so foreign to me.

I opened the door, entering my house that was completely empty.

It's a nice house. It's spacious, comfy and more than I can ask for.

The design is a mixture of gray and white, giving a calming feeling. The chairs and table are of wood, dark brown in colour.

It's so beautiful and so pretty.

But somehow, for some reason. . .

I feel so fucking empty.

I want to scream, out of my lungs.

I want to get rid of this empty feeling.

But I know, somehow, that-

It's not going to help.

If you wonder how this feels, I can explain.

It's like this gaping hole in your chest, a hole that never fills up.

Every breath you take makes it feel only bigger.

It becomes hard to breathe, hard to comprehend.

Your mind becomes empty, void of passion.

You don't feel fulfilled anymore.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I'm kind of tired of this bullshit.

I let out another sigh, staring at my bag grudgingly.

Let's get this fucking over with.