(Sigh, me + Christian Bale in American Psycho + Jo and Laurie in Little Women + an afternoon + lonesomeness = love story flood *smile* *smile* *cry*)
//
"Or we could run away.." That childish look in his eyes could have me weak in the knees, but.
"What! What the heck do you think you're saying?" I burst out, exasperated and tired and just frustrated.
"I was just saying that we have an option–" I think he was mentally screaming, "Calm down! I know how to fix this.."
"To run? Run away! Gods, this is the real world." I wiped my palm on my forehead. No sweat was there, only a frustrated amount of heat. I laughed dryly, "You and I both know, we both know, that this is the real world. Even if we try so damn hard to just forget about everything that comes our way, we can't. We can't because we–!" I found myself shouting to his pretty face.
"Because we are just dreamers, aren't we?" He said in a hushed whisper, still too loud enough for me to hear. He brought me down and sat with me under the shaded solace from the summer sun. The grass was as green and as fresh as it could ever be.
A long, tired breath flew from my mouth, "Those are just dreams. Dreams are little fragments of what we hope for, but unfortunately–"
"All that we have ever hoped for has been lost." He smiled, "Many are dreamers, an original short of yours from last year."
"You're a reader of mine," I managed to find some happiness in his line.
"I am a deep, deep lover of yours." He breathed out, smiling all the way.
"Can't see why anyone would appreciate the things floating about in my head.."
I can sense him come alive, "And why wouldn't they? Compared to all things of today, you've brought back Dante, Shakespeare, Austen, Brontë, all the writers of the gold! Your words can make any other person in this entire world swoon." In the last sentence, he grabbed my hands and held them in his. His eyes watery and, just, perfect. If there was music, oh, I think he'd be proposing to me. Wait, what?
"What..?" I shook myself from a distant train of thought and looked down at my hands clasped in his.
"You have made my world come to life." Slowly, fearfully, and yet he still manages a sincere look on his face. "In all its vibrant color and all its wonderful curiosity, you have made me alive."
And curse myself for being such a girl, to think that those words would be equal to, to..
"No, no.." I shakily replied as my limbs started to weaken and fall from his warm grasp. "You can't possibly be.."
"I am in love with you." He leaned closer before whispering, but leaned back as if he was astonished by his own words, "I mean, I love you and all of your works, but I.. I as the man who has for long sought solace and sanity in this world; I as the reader who dares to humiliate society for the beauty of your art; I as the man who lives to create his own form of perfection; I as the man, just the man, who has loved too well and too quietly the writer whom he has thought to only exist in his collection of books; I am the man who has grown to need the colors that only you can create."
In these "hipster vs mainstream" times, it's terrifyingly hard to find someone who verses as well as the sonnets of the old.
"The colors of the palette you speak of are the colors of black and white. I, for one, cannot revive your world with only two basic colors, and a thousand shades of gray." Then so be it, let the sonnets be free.
"In all your dull entity, there is vivid coloration. The words you speak are the prayers of the dead! So the painter needs colors, but the artist has already began painting with his soul. Gray as it may seem, but the vision of yours has created a world no one can imagine." On both of our two feet, we stand in the dramatic light of the grass-set stage, under the pale glow of the street lamp.
"Then why love a madman?" I coughed out before collapsing onto iron-wood bench, tired from searching on the meaning of our dialogue.
"Humanity is the cure for madness, soul is the cure for humanity." He sat down beside me, thumb shyly brushing the back of my hand.
We kept on breathing for a while, letting the wind take the highly-emotional atmosphere out of there.
Silence passed, and we both took the time to glance at each other.
"I never knew that you could be quite a poet."
"I learned from the best."
Laughter, it almost seems unfamiliar to me at this point.
"I don't understand." I whispered painfully.
"What is there to understand?"
"Everything, basically." Ah, the bitterness in my voice was too evident then.
He took my face in his hands, "Just understand this,"
The 7am sun was cold compared to this.
"I love you and I am in love with you."
Yes, the sun is definitely cold compared to what I'm feeling right now.
//
That was two years ago.
"We could have ran away together."
Yes.
We could have.
//
psycho
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