mon
if ever just the same
Acacia. iv.
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daphne. ficus. iris. maackia.
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lythrum. myrica. sabia.
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thymus. ribes. abelia. sedum.
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felicia. ochna. lychnis.
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The hum of cicadas are incessant in the summer heat, vibrating off salted droplets and cooling skin. Something sits on a girl's tongue, sticky sweet, breaking off in a pop as it melts between her gums. Hazel gazes, shifts from her socks to the fallen cap before her. She muses in thought and a boy comes to view, retrieving what was missing.
"What's that?" he asks. The boy with yellow eyes, she names him.
Her reply is not in words. She considers him with a tilt of her head and the ice in her hands is held out by the stick. It leaves liquid blue droplets on the ground and it stains his mouth in hues.
The next time she sees him it is winter and summer passes like a fever dream at 38.5 ℃.
"What's that?" he asks. The boy with yellow eyes, she names him.
Her reply is not in words. She considers him with a tilt of her head and the ice in her hands is held out by the stick. It leaves liquid blue droplets on the ground and it stains his mouth in hues.
The next time she sees him it is winter and summer passes like a fever dream at 38.5 ℃.
daphne. ficus. iris. maackia.
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She's running this time. It builds the speed needed for her to send him sprawling back as her fists collides with his cheek, knuckles bruising, skin breaking. Their voices drown in bursts of fire flowers. Her words are armed with bared teeth as she holds him by the collar.
He cries when she does, but not in the way she expects him to. The tears are her own. They stream down his cheek as he stares at her wide-eyed and speechless. She screams for the both of them.
His hands come up to cup her cheeks, containing her erratic, emotional thinking. Chastising fingers swipe at her eyes, they close the dam behind long lashes. When they flutter open, it's his sight of his retreating back that comes to view. They are separated by a 85 cm radius.
He cries when she does, but not in the way she expects him to. The tears are her own. They stream down his cheek as he stares at her wide-eyed and speechless. She screams for the both of them.
"It's better this way."
"That's not what I meant."
"Is this good-bye?"
"Yes."
"No."
"That's not what I meant."
"Is this good-bye?"
"Yes."
"No."
His hands come up to cup her cheeks, containing her erratic, emotional thinking. Chastising fingers swipe at her eyes, they close the dam behind long lashes. When they flutter open, it's his sight of his retreating back that comes to view. They are separated by a 85 cm radius.
lythrum. myrica. sabia.
- - - -
They snuck onto the rooftop of their old high school's building, their backs on cement floors as their met with a canvas a dark blues and royal purples. Pinpricks of white puncture the night sky and all is quiet. Their hands folded on their stomachs, a smile on their lips.
When she turns around to look at him, his eyes are closed. He seemed to be dreaming.
She tilts down and raven locks tickle his cheek. Something fades on his mouth and when he looks at her, he tells her he promises. She doubts him even when their pinkies wrap around one another. Their foreheads touch as the moon meets the clouds, and Acacia falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
The moment lasts like a distant memory. There was no point in clinging on to fruitless days. In the end, even she lets go of his words, their words. The unsaid vow.
When she turns around to look at him, his eyes are closed. He seemed to be dreaming.
She tilts down and raven locks tickle his cheek. Something fades on his mouth and when he looks at her, he tells her he promises. She doubts him even when their pinkies wrap around one another. Their foreheads touch as the moon meets the clouds, and Acacia falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
The moment lasts like a distant memory. There was no point in clinging on to fruitless days. In the end, even she lets go of his words, their words. The unsaid vow.
thymus. ribes. abelia. sedum.
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Sometimes she writes him letters. The papers are folded into paper cranes and crinkled balls, delivered by a plane which takes her thoughts to a place she can no longer reach. Scrupulously, she draws flowers in the corners of her notes. It shows that they're hers.
The sky is mockingly blue outside her classroom's windows. She rests her cheek on the table, twirling her pencil in her hand like a baton. The erase tip smears her written words for the umpteenth time. This time she writes him an empty note, filled with eraser shavings and unspoken 'I miss you's.
The days are dull. They wither away with a blink of an eye.
She decorates the fake flowers he once bought her. She paints them yellow and blue. Purple and green. Red and orange. Until they blend and blend and blend and through the myriad of swirl of colors, she realizes: She is Acacia Romans. Romans don't sit and mope. They do.
So she gets up and packs her bags. The voice in the airport announces her flight and the door closes behind her.
The sky is mockingly blue outside her classroom's windows. She rests her cheek on the table, twirling her pencil in her hand like a baton. The erase tip smears her written words for the umpteenth time. This time she writes him an empty note, filled with eraser shavings and unspoken 'I miss you's.
The days are dull. They wither away with a blink of an eye.
She decorates the fake flowers he once bought her. She paints them yellow and blue. Purple and green. Red and orange. Until they blend and blend and blend and through the myriad of swirl of colors, she realizes: She is Acacia Romans. Romans don't sit and mope. They do.
So she gets up and packs her bags. The voice in the airport announces her flight and the door closes behind her.
felicia. ochna. lychnis.
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It is 9:03 AM and she faces her future, her wishes and abating regrets.
Her sneakers are worn out. They rub against asphalt as she stares at their fractured relationship full in the face. The truth they're about to spill today will overflow, lit with firewood, carried by the wind until it paints the rusty sky. Something crackles in her pockets. Empty wrappers crinkle beneath her digging fingertips.
The voice, the color, the unwavering love he's given has faded away long ago. The stars that shined in the sky when they were alone no longer seem as bright.
She tells him thank you but the confession is tasteless against the blinking street lights. They stand eye to eye. Autumn is in the air as it brushes by, comforting raw cheeks and unmoving lips. The seasons lose their color under the monochromatic tire of distress.
Acacia says thank you.
And the boy, the one with yellow eyes and a blue stained mouth nods. He nods and he thanks her, turns away and disappears, swallowed by the shadows and gaping alleyways.
flos.
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Winter is cold. It is greeted by fogged breaths against black coffee mugs, cupped by hands painted red.
He greets her from a distance and Acacia smiles.
This time, there are no regrets.
Her sneakers are worn out. They rub against asphalt as she stares at their fractured relationship full in the face. The truth they're about to spill today will overflow, lit with firewood, carried by the wind until it paints the rusty sky. Something crackles in her pockets. Empty wrappers crinkle beneath her digging fingertips.
The voice, the color, the unwavering love he's given has faded away long ago. The stars that shined in the sky when they were alone no longer seem as bright.
She tells him thank you but the confession is tasteless against the blinking street lights. They stand eye to eye. Autumn is in the air as it brushes by, comforting raw cheeks and unmoving lips. The seasons lose their color under the monochromatic tire of distress.
Acacia says thank you.
And the boy, the one with yellow eyes and a blue stained mouth nods. He nods and he thanks her, turns away and disappears, swallowed by the shadows and gaping alleyways.
flos.
- - - -
Winter is cold. It is greeted by fogged breaths against black coffee mugs, cupped by hands painted red.
He greets her from a distance and Acacia smiles.
This time, there are no regrets.
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