It was one of those nights when the snow falls so hard the darkness turns white. Snowflakes gently crashing down and colliding in such a violent fashion. There was an ambiguity to it that made the cruel winter seem lovely.
It was 8:05pm and I already had 2 beers down my throat. I had had a tough week and I was tired. I was tired of everything and everyone around me. Judging me, patronizing me, and thinking they knew better than I could ever do.
For me, it was natural selection, I had come to understand why people leave. It was the best explanation I could have come up with. Why do they always leave? Or should I say: why do the good ones stay? It is always a matter of how you see things. You can be like my parents, fatalistic, and believe everything is up to destiny. Poor destiny. All the lies and the heartache that is credited to fate. If only destiny could refute these claims and shut them all up, life would be a different story.
You could see all the good in things and people. Like many out there. But then you would cross paths with one with a rotten heart and your world would be destroyed forever. Or you could be like me, and expect the worst in everyone, and let them surprise you by showing you they are not so bad.
It is all a matter of perspective and taste. No wonder why it always takes 15 stitches to heal a heart. You know it will have to be pierced and not only once. Yet you let them do it. 15 time. 15 times to survive the heartache.
The winter chill had me down and powerless. It had come to be one of the harshest times in my life. And I had had many, believe me when I say this. Your life has always been so sheltered and easy, yet I do not envy you. I have never envied the softness of your hands and fingers. Your untouched smile and your radiant eyes. Never have I ever uttered words against your perfect everything. So do not misinterpret the facts.
I always thought of myself as a dislocated joint. Painful, yet not gone for good. Severed limbs that never heal, that was never my goal. Just painful until put back in its place. Torture? No. A necessity? Perhaps.
I was always this meticulous person. My mother always told me I would have made a fine engineer. I never took her advice and decided to involve myself in the humanities. Little did I know that I would end up alone for so long. Where was that little boy? That little reflection of myself that people liked with ease? Where was that part of me? Where did I lose him?
If I was a book, I would be a book that has mirrors for pages. And I would stare at myself from the beginning to the end. Just to see the reflections of myself going from dawn till dusk. Crying until my heart dried up. Smiling all the awkward smiles that I have put on for the last thousand nights.
But then again, I am a 35% positive man. And even when the blizzard blinds the godless, I stand still in the cold, if you wish. In the sun and in the dirt.
I heard the sirens. Approaching like vultures to their prey. I had to leave this place. No matter the evidence, they would crucify me. They would never understand what had happened and they would stone me. They would hang me and mutilate me. Just to please a few little bastards. They would poison me and stab me. Just to show. Just to take my angel away. They would drown me. And I knew, that my mother's passing was never my fault.
They still think I should pay for it, but they do not dare to come near me.
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