Something Worth Feeling For | Rewriting

20 | Beautifully Constructed Chaos

Though there are times, it might have called for some sacrifices much larger than intended.

For example sometimes I think I might have even distanced myself not only the party girl in maturity, but also emotionally.

To the point of associating happiness to my innocence before what Deniss did to me. So much so, that I distance myself from happiness it's self at times. It's toxic. But it's a safety net I'm not sure I'll be able to completely release.

Anyway, that's all to be said that I can still just as easily recall how to handle a hangover.

Pulling my oversized tee over my knees, I curl under the the white sheets. Trying to sleep of the hangover.

I should have brought a water and some advil, before I layed down, damnit.

Reaching over for a pillow that seems to have found itself on the other side of the bed.

As I put my hand under the pillow I feel a hard smooth corner.

Taking my time to trace. Trying recalling ever putting something under my pillow.

When did I ever need to put anything under a pillow?

Gripping onto the smooth edge, I pull it from under the pillow.

Instentley I recognize the creme colored spine, the navy lettering, the tatery wrinkled edges.

Immediately I pull the pillow behind my, now rapidly sitting up body. Resting my back onto my headboard.

Yet, as I lay my head closer to the pillow I automatically get a whiff of forestry cologne, and mint. Wyatt.

Shit. Shit. Shit. If I was any tired or slightly hungover now, I momentarily sobered up as I realize what an immense dumbass I was.

How, could I be so hungover, I didn't even notice when I layed half naked in Wyatt's bed?

As I flip over the book I see the iconic rain scene between Nicholas Sparks and Allie Hamilton. The scene from the same novel I cried over far past my 'bedtime' at fourteen. The Notebook.

I notice as I trail my finger to trace the spine again that, this is not the library's. It doesn't have the Lawrence Academy's emblem imprinted on the inside cover.

Though worn and torn. He must have gone out of his way to buy it second hand.

Flipping through the yellow aged, pages, I stop to read some of the highlighted paragraphs.

-

'It is impossible to throw away the stroking on our hair.'

'No drowning man can know which drop of water his last breath did stop.'

'The romantics would call this a love story: the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind it's a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life.'

-

Only skimming through the sum of many highlighted quotes, I finally reach the back cover. Almost tempted to close the book to take a breath, before I notice writing on the inside of the back of the book.

Written in a basic blue ballpoint pen is handwriting, I can only assume to be Wyatts. Small, concentrated, and simple in the middle of a white canvas.

'Love is just beautifully constructed chaos.'