Perspective (MJ)

Her Melancholy Blues

Her Melancholy Blues

"Michael..." I whisper almost inaudibly to myself, the very tips of my smooth fingers brushing over the photo of Michael. Laying a soft, gentle kiss on his angel like face, I slowly turn the page curiously wanting to see more photos of him. I turn back as I hear a creak but then identify it as my shifting weight. A photo, I believe, is jammed at the back of the shelves. Placing the photobook back into an empty space between the other books, I put my attention on the item. After a few struggles, I manage to pry it out with only minor scratches on the photo.

As the photo is shown in my sight, I gasp at an extremely evocative photo of him that was taken around at his late teens. It has never been seen by me until now. The picture consists of, obviously, Michael who is standing at a slightly tilted angle (his head facing towards the right) a sad look in his mystical, dark eyes. His hair in a large, perfectly shaped afro which I have known to always love. What captivates my amazed eyes is that no clothing is placed on his upper body. As if he's physically here, I bring my fingers to tentatively touch his slim stomach. Exhaling to somehow to decrease my sped up heart rate, I still allow myself to gaze at the wondrous beauty that lays in front of me. A silver necklace that has a small square at the bottom hangs around the thin, fragile plate of his collarbone. Straight trousers that fit perfectly around his hips. His long slender arms that I dream of holding onto me for a lifetime. The masculine structure of his face, making me feel quite nostalgic at the thought of him growing from a boy to a man. The whole shape of his body...is just so strong and so beautiful. It makes me feel safe when it is pressed against mine. The appearance of his sweet, luscious, soft looking lips that make me intensely wonder why I hadn't confessed and properly fallen in love with him at that time.

Maybe it was because we weren't into those things yet; we also didn't know that insecurity would play a big part of our lives then.

"Michael...oh god Michael," I say quietly to myself, tears now let out. Hugging the photo to my chest, I rest against the bars and sigh heavily. It's amazing how one can't see how beautiful they are. Not even one single feature that they can approve of. I jump, shaking at the piercing sound of glass breaking. I'm unable to control my tears. I know what he is possibly doing.

I run as quickly as I can to the landing of the stairs. I enter a door that leads to the attic and rush up the stairs, amplified sounds becoming much more audible to my panicked ears.

"Michael please, stop," I tell him, eyes already widening at the catastrophe his room is in. His arms swipe across his shelves causing ornaments, books and other items to fall nosily to the ground.

He doesn't stop.

"Michael, please!" I beg, cautious not to trip or harm myself on the numerous amounts of damaged items. I take hold of his arm to stop him from ripping his sacred paintings which I have loved and love with all of my heart. He tries and tries to get his arm out of my secure, pleading hold but this time it doesn't work. He curses strongly in anger that he can't put himself in motion in order to release his arm. Therefore realising that there is no point of trying anymore, he calms down his heavy breathing which fills the quietly sounding air.

"Michael...please. You've got to overcome your insecurity. What you think about your appearance isn't true. Erase the negative thinking," I slowly let go of his arm, believing that he will not continue to damage any more of his possessions. He jerks his arm away when my fingers gently stroke his skin.

It makes me want to cry a river of tears.

"You don't understand," he says, his voice breaking. "It's hard to look into any object that is able to show my reflection. I'm hideous...I'm just hideous."