How to Paint Our Skies

How to Feel Feelings

Dear Fin,

     Sometimes, I wondered what it was like to feel.

    I had this problem where, after everything that had happened to me; I had the inability to feel emotions. I hadn’t felt one for so long that sometimes I forgot how the mere essence of one would feel on my skin. Would each individual one be different, have different textures, as if I were feeling fabric?

    If so, I could only imagine how each would feel. Anger would be rough under my fingers, pricking painfully at my skin. Sadness would be slippery, sliding around like tears on my cheeks. Happiness would fuzzy, curling around me in warmth that filled my very soul. Emotions, like velvet and rubber and sand paper, would each rub against my soul and I would have to endure the reaction they created for me.

    Emotions were what defined us as humans. But if we all felt the same things, then how could any of us stand out and be original? Emotions were equated with dull realities. It was easier to cast them away, forget the foolishness.

    Sometimes, I wondered what it was like to feel. And every time I wondered, I would throw away the moronic idea. Because I had more important things in my life . . . emotions wouldn’t make me live, they would anchor me down from life.

    If only I knew how wrong that was.

    You taught me to feel.  And more importantly, you taught me to love.  Something I thought my body incapable of discovering, you taught me.  Even if you’ll never love me back . . . maybe that was what broke me.

     But here I am, staring at word after word as they appear on the page by my hand and I can’t help but wonder again . . . about us. We weren’t meant to be, but you knew that from the start, and yet you strung me along.  You made me fall in love with you, but you didn’t catch me, and you let me break.

    Does that make you a monster? It feels like it does.

    But these feelings, they just recently started stirring. And when I say recently . . . I mean twenty minutes ago, or rather, the last time I saw you.

    The sight of you was so unexpected. I haven’t seen you in so long (one year, nine months, fourteen days, five hours, twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds. Not that I was counting or anything) and just that glimpse of you and your perfect life sent me spiralling down again. Because the truth is that when I fell for you and you didn’t catch me, I never picked myself up again. And now I feel like I’m falling all over again.

    I mean, look at me. You never did when we’re together, so I’m forcing you to now. And even if these are just words . . . I know you can see me through them. And what do you see, huh? I bet it’s what everyone else did; too, you’re just too embarrassed to admit it. You never saw me for me; you just saw a reflection of what you hoped for me to be. The worst part is that you hoped for me to be like her.  

    Didn’t you? Didn’t you?!

    And then there’s you . . . I wanted to hit you because you looked happy today, only twenty minutes ago. You wore that dazzling grin of yours, the one that made me fall in love with you; you were with her, your arm adorning her shoulder. You whispered something into her ear and she giggled, which made you smile more. You ignored reality because you two were stuck in your own world, the one where you were in love and happy.

     I’m so angry with you, I can’t even express myself.

    All I want to do is move on.

    Maybe that’s why I’m writing this down. You always used to tell me about fate and destiny, about how our lives were predetermined for us, like written stories that we’re living out for some great author in the sky.  If that is true, then why did we meet? That’s why I’m writing this, because I’m hoping to discover the truth, like some great treasure.

    You and I . . . we have a story. And maybe, if that story is told, I can finally close this chapter of my life. The chapter of you.

    I love you.

    I miss you.

    -Annalise

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100 word summary for the SYTYCW contest:

This story follows Annalise Martin, a twenty year old struggling student studying art in New York City. Annalise explains, through a series of letters to an old lover, Finland Erickson, how her life fell apart due to him. Annalise has a speech impediment, severe self-esteem issues and depression, all due to the bullying she has faced all her life. When she met Finland Erickson in high school, he changes everything, but he eventually leaves her too. This story is all about coming of age, of overcoming death and heartbreak and finding the strength to move on within you.

Thanks for reading and the consideration!

Love Your Favorite Liar <3