One day, she meets another one. She pulls down her sleeves. ,,Hey,” they greet, and she looks up, eyes a bundle of stars and an ocean of everything. They blink. ,,Hello,” she answers warily, eyes darting and looking for every possible hint for this to be a joke.
They smile just slightly. It makes her want to stare and look away at the same time. ,,You look scared,” they observe, and she feels her chest tightening just a bit. ,,Oh. Is that a bad thing?”, she asks, scooting over as the other makes move to sit.
,,I wouldn’t know. It’s not a nice feeling, is it?”, they ask, genuinely, and she yet again blinks.
,,I guess not,” but she knows so very few nice things, so that separating these two is quite a tough work for her. And then she blinks and remembers, she supposed to know and not guess, to be right and not wrong, to fit into this world by saying things-
,,That’s fine then,” they say, and she feels a jolt rushing through her whole body, leaving her breathless and-
,,Fine?”, she asked, confused and wrong, and she feels her breaths turning slightly wicked. They look up at her, a funny look in their eyes and she feels her toes curling. ,,Yeah. It’s fine.”
Everything relief and good and calm flood over her like a river, and she breathes out
,,What’s your name, by the way?”, they ask suddenly, and she smiles just a bit.
,,I don’t quite know yet.”
They nod, lips pulling into a secret smile and she learns forward just slightly. ,,What about you?”, she asks, the smile widening upon their lips.
,,I don’t quite know either.”
She feels her heart beat another time.
When she comes home, she doesn’t touch her paper just yet. She sits down, gets up, makes her herself a small snack, turns on the TV, put on headphones and start her computer and she feels weirdly
She wants to believe that a simple conversation like that wouldn’t fuel her this much – that a person couldn’t have this effect on her, that she is more collected than that.
But she isn’t. It’s yet another part of her she has to swallow, another thing that can fit wrong in this world. ,,I don’t want that,” she says down to her paper, pen whispering across filled lines. ,,But I guess I have no choice.”
He calls the next day – leaves a message too, and then three more. She tries to ignore it; and is successful, in that sense that she doesn’t touch her phone. But her mind is being ravished, is long taken hostage by memories she believed lost.
She looks up, eyes running over yells and crying, a mist of something broken and then everything
Her breath stutters out of touch, as she learns forward and hides away her face, tears breaking from those gone eyes of hers. ,,I don’t know,” she whispers down to the paper, lips shaking and eyes fluttering. ,,What to do.”