383: Enigma

383: Enigma

He wakes up in a cold sweat, naked, hard, confused. He sees that girl in his dreams again, the curious enigma he is intrigued by. Still half-asleep, half-dreaming of teenage sex and young love, he scampers down the stairs in a misty, wondrous haze.

That new girl, ever since she had come here, had been an enigma to him. Her cold front, her cool demeanour, her smiles and laughs that seemed real…but he knew that there was a fine line between genuineness and deception with this girl. He’d never seen someone’s expressions travel the spectrum with such incredible speed. He wondered if he, or anyone else for that matter, would be able to discern her true feelings. That girl, she had done so many things to her hair that it was hard to picture her with her natural black hair colour. He’d known because he had searched her up on Google, perusing her various online profiles. It occurred to him suddenly that he neither liked or disliked her unlike many boys their age; rather, that he was, and still is, curious about her.

So it didn’t occur to him that within the next four weeks, he’d find himself in an abandoned park at night with the girl in his lap, his first kiss of many, her last kiss of few. It didn’t occur to him that he had been an enigma to her, that she wanted him in more ways than one, that they truly complemented each other as a pair of soulmates would. That even though she was quiet and shy and sometimes fake, she was a voracious kisser, hungry for more, never satiable. He didn’t want to get tired of kissing this enigmatic girl.

He was simply afraid that she would no longer be an enigma to him.

 

~ Serendipitous

My favourite novel of all time is Francoise Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse. I think that says a lot about me as a person.

79 days until I’m 18.

377: Endless Futures

377: Endless Futures

Whoops, I haven’t posted in a while.

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She stands on the balcony with her small hands resting on the cool railing, wearing a sheer nightgown, basking in the serenity of the dark before the dawn. He would not have liked her wearing his gift outside, but surely no one could see her now. She gazes into the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise and illuminate the midnight purple sky.

How easy it is for her to say that they both worked hard to get where they were now. Their own apartment together, studying in their dream degree together, sleeping in the same bed together. How easy it was for her then to dream of such a thing. Even though they had been together for a while, longer than most couples had been when they graduated high school, it was still all too surreal for her. She was, is, will be living a dream that teeters on the fine line between reality and imagination.

She stands there indefinitely. Her hands become immune to the cool touch of the metal beneath her fingers. The sun, pulling itself into the sky and radiating its warmth, sending rays of light from heaven itself, emboldening the shape of the billowing clouds in the far off distance. If she wasn’t so careful (and she wasn’t), she would go so far as to say that this would be what she’d see when she was as close as she could be to her lover, best friend, future husband, partner for life. To see the sunrise was, is, could have been, will be, her happiness. With his arms wrapped around her waist of course. But he hadn’t woken up yet, at least in this fantasy set up. Maybe in a while he’ll wake up, wander half-asleep to the balcony with the screen door that has been carefully opened so as to not have woken him up hours earlier, and he’ll see her standing there, still as a post, watching the sky unload its daily story. He’ll see she’s wearing that nightgown, and he’ll go to scold her, but she’ll turn around and smile, and she’ll say,

“Good morning honey. Did you have a good sleep?”

He’ll think about what she said, with an arm resting on the frame of the screen door. He loves the sound of her voice, even if she doesn’t herself. The perfect number eight will roll around in his mind, and then he’ll think of her rolling around on their bed. No. Nah. He wouldn’t do that. He’ll just think about how he’s perpetually tired. He hasn’t gotten the perfect number of hours of sleep since tenth grade. Or maybe even ninth, depending on what version of stories he’s told his girl. She probably doesn’t remember, on account of her short term memory loss. But, since it’s a weekend…

“Yes, bub. What are you doing there? Why are you wearing that?”

She’ll come away from the balcony. The sky lost her attention as soon as he came out to the balcony. She’ll smile at him, one of those secret, furtive smiles she reserves for him, that twinkle in her right eye when she smirks crookedly. His breath will catch in this throat, only momentarily – she’s done this more times than he can count, but still – and then she’ll wrap her arms around his neck and wait for him to do the same around her waist. She’ll have brushed her teeth long before he woke up, but she’ll kiss him, morning breath or not, all the same. She will like waking him up even more with a morning kiss, then breakfast, then more kisses. And normally they’ll have rushed off to the clinic, but it’s a weekend, so she’ll probably take him back to bed so that they can discuss their future, their past, their present, and everything in between.

 

~ Serendipitous

Huh. I like writing in future tense. I wonder if anyone else does that. Probably. I didn’t invent future tense so yes, probably. Rambling.

I love you, honey. Here’s the post.

2.42 am

376: Untitled

376: Untitled

Life is one hell of a roller-coaster. She sobs. The last time she sobbed like this over her comforter, curled up in the dark on her bed, it was over that boy she wasted three years chasing. Poor girl. The endless wallowing of self-pity. She sobs again now. They now do not have what they had in September. All is not lost, however, there is still some purpose in life. Their love is a little different now. She wonders, briefly, if it can ever be the same again. She suffers. He also suffers under the knowledge that she is psychotic. She wants to really change for him. She wants to be good. The good wife, the good girlfriend, the good daughter-in-law. A good person. She is afraid that their undying love will suddenly become the embers of an expired fire. She loves him. She truly does. The economy, the last year of high school, their families, it changes them. She embraces change but when change throws shit at her she doesn’t know what to do anymore. She needs to wake up. She knows, she knows, but she needs some time to wake up. Give her time. She will also give him time. Love is time. She loves him. She weeps for him, and for herself. She is sorry for the things she said. She needs to be his first and last love. She needs him to be her last love. There are things in life which are best left unsaid, undone, untouched.

Seriously, she loves you so much. But I suppose the more one says it, the more meaning is lost. Actions speak louder than words. She can only show you when you let her.

 

~ Serendipitous

374: La Familia

374: La Familia

A family portrait. A woman and a man standing with their hands rested lovingly in the crooks of their children’s shoulders, a pair of innocently beautiful siblings: a handsome little boy and his older sister, a blossoming, very attractive girl.

They seem like a happy family at first glance. The woman and her husband smile as their children laugh for the photo. The flash glows in each of their sparkling dark eyes. Lucky for them, no red showed up in the pupils. The wedded couple’s perfect porcelain teeth outshine the crooked baby teeth of their children. The woman’s sable hair is curled, brushes the tops of her breasts. The man’s equally raven-coloured hair is shiny, waxed to perfection on the morning of the shoot. The woman’s white dress, a bridal gown, a gift from a dear friend. The man’s tuxedo with a little black bow-tie, the best man’s gift for the groom. The little girl is dressed in her favourite floral print dress with a large ribbon adorning her waist, her hair pulled gently into long pigtails on the sides of her head. She wears a little jade rabbit necklace, a gift from her father. The little boy dressed in a little tux of his own, just to match his father. Their happiness, immortalised in a single second. Time wouldn’t be able to tarnish the memories or the moments contained in this single photograph for a while. They were protected by time, and preventing time from ravaging it.

The woman blew up the family portrait, framed it with an ornate gold-plated border and hung it above the bed she shared with her husband so that when she woke up in the morning and turned around, she would see her family, their smiling faces, be reminded of the happiness that the family had together.

When they filed for divorce and promised each other it was a mutual decision and that they had to think of the kids, she wondered if she was mocking the institution of marriage. ‘Til death do us part, if death were her husband having a passionate love affair that outshone their courtship and marriage. She requested to keep the family portrait, the children wanted to live with each parent on a weekly basis, and he requested that he be given the honours to destroy the photograph. The happiness that had tied them together. He had ruined that with the other woman. She had ruined it by focusing too much on her career and the children. Indeed, she was mocking the institution of marriage. Marriage had never been easy for anyone. They were supposed to make it work. At first, she agreed with him, that he destroy the portrait, internally of course, that she agreed. But she longed for that same happiness, the very thing that kept her loving her husband and her children. She was left with a bitter taste in her mouth by her mother-in-law. The criticism, the hate letters, the bruises. She went to work at the dental clinic everyday with concealer hiding the steep, unnatural purples bleeding into her cheek. She smiled even though the pain brought tears to her eyes. She kept the happiness in her clinic, smiled for her patients and brought them their happiness even if they were unaware of her own spiral into depression. Such was the life of the woman. Where was that letter she had written to her husband as a teenager? The letter containing a version of her last will and testament, numerous empty threats to commit suicide, leave him for another man even though no other man had been romantically interested in her since she was eighteen other than her now ex-husband…she needed to follow through. She left the clinic to her children. It wouldn’t matter if they didn’t want to be dentists when they grew up. They could always sell it, her life’s work, it would become someone else’s legacy. She was fine with that. She would leave her husband the portrait, her letter to him that she kept from him all these years, a letter to the other woman, letters to her children, a lone letter to her in-laws, a heartfelt letter to her own parents.

I could have been a better wife, a better mother, a better daughter, a better daughter-in-law. We could have all been better. I didn’t do my best when it was needed, but I did do something. In my final moments, I know I will have done my best. Everything will be as it should have been if you let time heal it.

To my children, mummy loves you. Mummy really loved your daddy too, but daddy now loves another. Mummy will always love you.

To my husband, I love you. I still do. If only we could have what we had when we were eighteen.

 

~ Serendipitous

Families are tricky. Every family has a history, secrets, drama. Marrying into another family is also tricky. But what would I know about that, I’m just writing about things that will probably never happen, haha. It’s challenging to think about.

 

368: Lovesick

368: Lovesick

A young girl, sixteen years of age, threw herself into bed and began to sob quietly to herself. The same fiery love that had melted her ice-encased heart now froze it back again. She was worried. She had no reason to be, but she was worried about her first love. She loved him immensely, deeply, boundlessly. She confessed that she dreamed of her lips on his for hours on end, the two of them cuddling in bed and sharing passionate kisses that yelled of vibrant youth and young, sweet love. His downcast look and small crooked smile threw her off guard, crushed her childish schoolgirl-in-love dreams, her suppressed fantasies, her pretty naivety. They did not want the same thing, did not desire the same things. Still, he was her first love and she wanted him to feel the same way about her.

Her tears fell in thick streams onto her pillow as her heart ached and throbbed within walls of arctic ice. She desperately wanted to feel their lips touch, for his tongue to snake over hers, for him to embrace her lovingly. It was silly. These fantasies of hers were silly. No other teenage girl in the right frame of mind would be wanting the bizarre things that she craved. The little girl tried to soothe herself as her feet rubbed themselves against each other. She tried to soothe the ache in her heart. He was perfect, save for this one, insignificant detail. Beneath the covers she rocked herself back and forth. Why did he not want to kiss her in the way she wanted? Was she too passionate, too wild, too thrilling for him? Was her enthusiasm overwhelming, unrealistic, nasty? She thought that he loved to kiss her. Didn’t all men love to kiss their girls? She thought about all the times they had kissed. Had he ever really felt the same way when they were kissing?

Soon there were no more tears left. Her heart beat dully, her feet crossed at the ankles down near the foot of the bed. She forgot about her romantic woes. As she slipped into a deep sleep, she couldn’t remember for the life of her what she had been upset about.

 

~ Serendipitous

2.17 am