Holiday

by sunspears

He was always the wild one, they said.

The type that would always get into fights and ran away, only to be found by the authorities his parents hired. He’d be discovered sleeping underneath the stars and hitch hiking with wandering souls that have nothing but want everything. He’d be found smoking and drinking and playing guitar, singing as if it was his last performance on Earth.

They say he’s as wild as an elephant’s child: with no sense of self-worth and no moral compass pointing him north. His arrow is spinning – always has been spinning – and it’s never stopped. Not once. A lot of people have tried to keep him down, to make him stay. Reasons such as family, love, life and obligations were used as if it’s the only thing important in the world and should be held above everything.

But he saw through all of this and it’s never made him stray from his supposed life’s purpose; anything extraneous never seemed important to him anyway.

However this all changed when you came along. You were the new kid in the block: the newly bloomed flower that drew every bee in town in with your life story, the youthful freshness of your face, the thrilling flush of your pure face, the innocence and wetness of your wide doe eyes. No one is an exception of this charm you beheld upon these strangers, not even him – the delinquent punk with iridescent hair and steely grey eyes.

You find yourself drawn to him, too. He possessed this characteristic imbalance of nonchalance that was so him it surprised you. He was the type of person that did not care about anything at all, that everything he does is lazy. His moves are executed with precise, and slow twitches and glides, all done with an unbefitting grace and accuracy only he can pull off. He had you – hook, line and sinker – from the very moment he shot you that lazy smirk, an infinitesimal quirk of the right side of his red lips, as if it was already a ghost of what was a smile.

The way you fall for him is much like how rain falls from the Heavens – slowly, then all at once.

It’s a torrent of words exchanged, drizzles of stories unraveled, storms of tears as secrets are unearthed, destroyed, then buried again. It’s a hurricane of emotions as you say I love you, and wait for him to say it back. It’s a blizzard of kisses and hot fiery touches as you both map each other’s bodies and memorise answers you will never say, and never find. It’s the eye of the storm when his compass’ arrow finally stops moving and whirring, coming to a halt as it points at you.

Maybe you can keep him around.

Maybe you can change his mind.

Maybe you can make him stay this time.

But, really, it was only a matter of time.

You see the first sign after the first time you told him those three words. You see him hesitate, that arrow twitching slightly in the form of his fingers wrapped tightly around yours.

You ignore this, though, along with the second and the third and the fifth and the umpteenth sign – all seen after every single time you remind him of what you feel for him, and just how much he means to you.

He is gone one day, with you realising this as you wake up alone in bed, naked and spent with his side of the mattress still bodywarm and laden with his scent. There’s a note by his pillow, a blue sticky note pasted on the dent where his beautiful head used to be, where his dreams came alive.

A new start
I’ve broken too many hearts
And I don’t have any clue where to go
I don’t know
But maybe I’ll come back someday
After my holiday

I love you, too, but I don’t think I’ll ever change. I love you, but someone can love you better. You deserve someone better. I love you, and I’ll come back. Someday.

You cry. It wracks through your whole body, making your bare shoulders shiver as the sun rises and the heat bleeds on your back. It makes you clutch the duvet closer to your chin as you breathe in his smell for the last few beats of the morning as it dwindles into the afternoon.

He disappears just like how the rain disappears – slowly, then all at once. You regret not holding on to him tighter, not making yourself important to him enough, not changing him.

But you wait for him – the rain – all the same. You go back to your special place with him, and wait for his return.

All of the wasted time spent with him, all of the hours he left behind with you, the answers that you both will never find. You keep them in a box, ready for when he comes back and bounds up to you all windstruck and broken and beautiful.

When that day comes, when he deems you enough to be an anchor to keep him on the ground, they all won’t mean a thing.

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