Bellarke One-shots

Indifference

I'm not even gonna comment on my disappearance. All I have to say is corona can suck my d!ck.

I always had a feeling she didn't love me as I loved her. And I had my reasoning.

Lips weren't created to be kept shut and forever frozen in a downturn of dejectedness. Lips were made to be paired with those of someone else, and they don't feel complete unless they are paired with the ones molded for them like a lock and key. For every set of lips mine have grazed, none have left me satisfied for longer than the brief seconds they were touching, and none have ever fit with mine the way they should, because they were never hers. My lips felt bare, and I know mine never got the satisfaction to interlock with hers, but I know mine were molded for hers, and hers only.

Hands were made to feel the warmth of another persons. They were meant to graze and explore the skin of another person, and the skin was meant to be explored by the hands of another. I had my lucky moments, where her hand brushed mine. Where her arms wrapped around my neck, and mine wrapped around her waist. Where her fingers intertwined with mine, and my hand squeezed hers. Little touches, here and there that she laid upon my skin. Little touches that left marks when those little touches became little memories. Little touches, here and there I placed upon her skin when I was given the opportunity too. Brushing the hair out of her face and in a place where they could not obstruct the view of her eyes.

Eyes, which were made to see beautiful things. My eyes got the blessing to see something as beautiful as her. Her eyes had the curse of seeing something as broken as me. But she still looked at me, even if it wasn't as pretty as what her eyes were destined to see. Her eyes still scanned the scars and cuts my body held and her hands tried their hardest to fix them. And my eyes glanced at her when she wasn't looking, or sometimes, shamelessly when she was. I wasn't as beautiful as her, but her eyes still looked at me. Little glances that were so little, you may not even catch them in the act. But they were there. They may not have meant much to her, but they meant everything to me.

You would think tears weren't meant to be seen by anybody except for the eyes that shed them, because that is the way most comfortable and familiar. It is simply not true. Tears were meant to be seen by the person who could make them go away. They were meant to be seen by the person who had hands soft enough to wipe them away. They were meant to be seen by the person who made it their goal to prevent them from ever being brought to the eyes surface again, and by the person who vowed to never be the cause of them.

She was the only person to ever see tears in my eyes and pour down my face. She was the only person who had soft enough hands to touch my face and wipe the tears away. She was the only person who got close enough to whisper words strong enough to make the tears stop.

My lips, my eyes, my hands, my skin, my tears, they were all created for her. I was only ever made for her. Much to my denial and indignation, I was only ever hers, yet she was never mine.

While every little touch, every little glance, and every single tear of mine was meant for her and her only. Every touch of hers, every glance of hers, and every single tear of hers, was not meant strictly for me.

I wasn't first in line. Finn saw the little glances too. Finn felt the little touches too. Finn caught those tears too. And when Finn was no longer there to catch the little glances, absorb the little touches, and wipe away the little tears, I wasn't second in line either. Lexa saw the little glances too. Lexa felt the little touches too. Lexa caught those tears too. And when Lexa was no longer there to catch the little glances, absorb the little touches, and wipe away the little tears, no one really was. She deemed herself too broken to be seen and to be felt in that way again. Nothing would ever feel the same as Finn's look, and Lexa's touch. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn't them. I wasn't going to be enough to repair broken touches and broken glances left by Finn and Lexa.

Even if my lips were given the opportunity to touch hers, they wouldn't moId with hers like the others did. Her lips fit mine, but mine did not fit hers. Even if my hands were given the opportunity to provide her with more than the little touches I have already given her, it would never be like the touches the others had given her. My skin was made to be felt by her hands, but her skin was not made for my hands. If the feeling of my eyes felt as warm as the feeling of the others, I would look at her until she didn't feel broken anymore. But my gaze couldn't fix her. My eyes were made to see her beauty, but her eyes were not made to see me, for I was not as beautiful as her. And I certainly wasn't as beautiful as Finn or Lexa in the eyes of her. I would sit and wipe her tears for as long as I needed to if it meant she never cried again. But my hands were not soft enough to wipe the tears away and convince them to never return. My vow to never be the one to make her cry, would never be strong enough, and never be true enough, because I have been the reason for her tears before. I wasn't enough for her, because I wasn't it for her like she was it for me.

Perhaps, she didn't love me at all.

This doesn't mean she hated me. She didn't shove me away when I got too close. She didn't curse me out when I spoke to her. She didn't dislike my presence, at least not all the time. She didn't hate me, she just didn't love me. Much to the dismay of others, hate is not the opposite of love. Love and hate are very different things, that is for sure, but one isn't made to be the opposite of the other. Love is a word of passion. Hate is a word that goes against that passion, but hate is also a word of passion. To compare two words of passion by the means of an antonym just isn't correct, for you do not fight passion with passion. You fight passion with the lack thereof, making the opposite of love, indifference.

The world isn't strictly black and white. The foundation of how we live isn't this or that. You don't love or hate every person you come across. Yes, the world has love, and yes it has hate. Yes, there is black, and yes there is white. But that isn't all there is. The world is a spectrum of black and white and all sorts of shades spanning in between the two. The world had its grey areas. For her, I was that grey area.

She was indifferent towards me.

But I adored her, so although I loved her when reciprocated feelings of love for me did not reside in her, I would carry on my way of living, because what I got what much better than getting nothing at all. And as long as she let me, I would be a temporary hand for her to hold. A temporary pair of arms to fall into. A temporary shoulder to cry on. A temporary cut for her to heal. A temporary canvas of skin for her skin to lie next to. A temporary fix.

I would let her be indifferent towards me as long as it meant I got to carry on loving her, because the pain I would undergo, felt way better than feeling nothing at all.

From me there was love, from her there was indifference.