Why I Love You Endlessly

Why I love You Endlessly ~ Part 1: "Shall We Start From The Beginning...?"

Why I love You Endlessly ~ Part 1: “Shall We Start From The Beginning…?”

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I'm sitting in our special corner, Dean. You remember that special corner right? The one that we always sat in when we picked out something we liked? The one with the huge hard, wood shelves on one side and the creamy not too dirty wall on the other? The one with the bean bag, always shaped in that flattened pony way, just how we always liked it?

Well yeah. You've probably forgotten now. We let it linger too long. We let everything linger too long.

I'm in the library; that's where our special corner is.

And you know what I'm doing? I'm thinking about this, Dean. Thinking about how it's a Sunday morning. Gloomy. Ugly. Gray. Yet perfect.

You're probably going to wake up around eight-ish because that was your habit; remember? Waking up early on all the horrible days. But that's okay. It's great, even. The earlier; the better. Know why?

Because this here will be waiting for you when you're up, out of the shower, done with breakfast.

You're a boy. I wouldn't be surprised if you left it all there, waiting for someone else to answer the door even though you're sitting right across from it. No, don't call. Don't even pick up the phone because I know you'd do that, Dean. I just know you would.

But before you think about feelings, I want you to know what I am trying to say, directly to your face yet not being there to witness it.

Pain isn't a very friendly word. I'm only trying to save us both the blood and tears, so please don't think too much when you see this. Please don't. I only want you to listen and feel.

So where was I?

Oh yes.

There on your doorstep, when you wake up in the morning, will be a pile. Yes, a pile. You were always a lot tidier than I was, I'll admit it now because these things no longer matter. But the pile will definitely be there, no different to how I'd left it eight o'clock that very morning, ringing that annoyingly cheerful doorbell and hiding from even the trees surrounding your house.

I left before I could see whether it was you who'd answered the door or whether it was your sister, Anna. It could also have been your mom or dad, but I highly doubted it. Didn't you tell me once when we were together that every Sunday; they both went to bed at three in the morning and woke up at two thirty in the afternoon?

Well you did. But you probably don't remember that either.

So whether it is you or not that answers the door, by then I'm sure, the pile will be successfully damp but not so terrible.

At least remember how I always had everything planned out.

Well, you'll probably see this pile. Your name is scrolled at the very peak of this mountain, stamped with my famous owl; the one we made that one night remember? Well, even if you don't remember, you will. You have a heart of course. And saying that you'd forgotten would imply that you're an imbecile which you're most definitely not.

You're going to know that the pile is from me, won't you, Dean? We were like that with each other, remember?

Shoot. Dean, I apologize. I'm the imbecile in this situation; I'm the one that needs to remember that she's not a three year old girl. You’re not stupid! You’re fantastic. Smart. Special. Which is why I needed to give you this.

            The first thing you’ll probably see is the big, white box with the half open lid. Sorry about that. It wasn’t closing too well; I guess there’s just a lot for me to say, huh?

So the box. Dean, this box contains everything. Don’t open it yet. Listen to what I have to say first. It’s everything we ever had, everything we ever were. From our very first meeting to our very last. It’s a special box, Dean. Very special. Which is why I’ve granted you such a privilege by handing this over, so you’d better look after it properly, you beautiful bastard.

            Actually—Do  what you want. That whole, what’s mine is yours’ crap, yeah; it really is just a whole load of bullshit. Making you go through with it with me would just ruin it for the both of us.

            And you’ll also see a book. Not just a book but an album—our very first photo album and our very last. I won’t ask because I know you really do remember. All these pictures. How I said to capture these moments so we’d never lose them. So we’d never forget them—so we’d never be able to even if we beat it out of our skull because these were pictures and the only way to kill them is to rip them in half and toss them into a raging, angry fire. But even that wouldn’t tear us apart. Even that wouldn’t ruin us—even something so hellaciously vicious wouldn’t crease our love. I’m not saying our love is creased, Dean oh please. I would never say that.

Do what you want with these pictures, Dean. Recycle them, turn them into pieces of collage for your beautiful works of art, I really don’t care. They’re yours now.

I think you get the picture, Dean. But still. Don’t open it until I’m done with what I have to say—for now.

            You’re never going to need this. Never going to use this. Never going to be able to use this. And not because of our sorrowful memories or our good ones—so good that they hurt. No. You won’t be able to use it because I broke it.

Sorry about that.

You paid two hundred dollars for it anyway; you deserve at least an apology.

Sorry.

            And lastly…this. Me. Everything. It’s all here; all the secrets and lies and truths spoken from this very video camera. Look closely, Dean. You’ll see where I had scribed both our names in the bottom right corner of it, in a heart and circled with pretty little pink rhinestones. Well…yeah. There’s not much else I can say about this video camera besides that it was ours which made this my favourite. Keep it as long as you think it should live, Dean. I mean, it’s yours now—remember what I don’t believe! Because it’s not mine anymore. None of this is. None of these memories, none of these flashbacks, none of these goddamn knick knacks. I don’t want any of it, Dean. Not a single fucking spec of it.

So Dean. Before you rummage through, I just think that you should know that things change. Things have changed. The billboards changed, so did Al, the grocer’s son, so did my mom with her new amazing life which she happily dragged me into, so has the cement no longer crumbly between the tiles of the pavement floor and the weather and that punk girl in 9th grade who switched from Goth to peace maker because her mother had finally converted to a fully fled Christian with a tender heart and small boobs.

I’ve changed too, Dean. And hopefully, so have you.

            So I’ve said it all now, Dean. Well, what I’d been meaning to say before you decided to open the box, or the photo album or the postcards and the letters, that is. Listen carefully, you beautiful bastard. Listen to everything the moron that thought love was forever has to say.

And just a hint, Dean.

That moron is me.

oxo

 I hope you lovelies liked it even this first chapter is like, such a downer ^.^

Vote and comment and stuff because this is kinda fun and I’d rather not stop just now ^.^

Dedicated to @The1girlxx for being such a help and all :) I wouldn’t have done so well if she hadn’t helped with the ideas :) Follow her and read that really cool story of hers called Truth Hurts But Lies Kill :D

It’s really good ;)

oxo

Love, Amelie oxo