no specific character; angst (though i hate reading them, you can never have enough writing of this genre); G; 243 words
garbled speech and downcast eyes was the goodbye.
So he counts.
One second, one minute, one hour, one full day. Week passes, months go by, but still he can’t drag his feet away, can’t bring himself to move along. People passes by and leaving him behind, and by every passing day, he experiences the same promnesia–of saccharine-sweet smile, whispered promises, warm hugs, exchanged touches, fleeting kisses, soft hands wrapping around closed hands, telling that they’re there, that they’re a thing he can grasp onto.
Sickening déjà vu thrills him, in a bad way, because it stays like a painful reminder that he’ll always be cemented onto the pavement, static and unmoving even if the world is ending and the chaos is really near. That he can’t escape, at all, from anything. That he will never move on, as moving on means forgetting, while it doesn’t seem like he’s ready to forget anything about the person he cherishes the most, who once loved him, who said the world wouldn’t be complete without him. Was it all painful rubbish or not, he didn’t–doesn’t know, up until now. All he knows is how he was left, alone, empty heart and flat, painful wounds slowly waking him up from the temporary stance after their last argument.
But the reason behind it is something he will never has his grasp upon, as he refuses to seek the truth that maybe, just maybe, the only one who hasn’t tire themselves off the relationship is him, that it has turned into a one-sided thing since long ago…
…that maybe he doesn’t deserve to be loved anymore.
note: yeah. sorry. but not really. another apology for abandoning this blog. i’m not leaving anything though, in case somebody wonders about it.