A Three Year Promise

I Miss You

The moment I open my eyes, the beautiful painting on the ceiling fell into my sight. Dazzling aurora borealis above the sky in the shades of green and purple, shining shimmering stars hanging on the sky, beautiful seashells lying on the smooth sand, and a man's side view wandering the beautiful aurora borealis were portrayed in the painting of the ceiling. My bedroom is a reflection of my character and my heart. On the corners of my room are hanged with small hanging string lights; above my bed is a big bulletin board that were pinned with polaroid pictures that I took; on the right side of my bed lies a large white book shelf filled with books and notebooks that I collected ever since when I was seven years old and; on the left side of my bed lies a sky blue study table with three horizontal drawers. Of all the features of my room, the painting on the ceiling is what I loved the most; it's all because of the alluring gaze of the man. He is just as beautiful as an angel. The way his alluring bluish eyes looked at the dazzling aurora borealis made my heart skips a beat. He looked at it as if it is the most precious thing he has ever seen.

I stand up and head to my study table. I pull out the leftmost drawer, and a vintage notebook was lying there quietly. I pick it up and turn to the first page of the notebook. There written my name, Aurora Atkinson. Then I turn to the last page of the notebook. A picture of two holding hands and quote are all I see.

December 23, 2014

"We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch, we are going back from whence we came" – John F. Kennedy

I gently touch the picture with mixed feelings. I never thought that holding hands would be romantic until I met him – August Evans. Every time we meet each other, he would hold my hand. Unlike him, I'm a type of person who do not know how to show my affection towards someone. For the first few times that he held my hand, I felt really awkward and tried to let go of my hand from his strong grip. But instead of letting go of my hand, he would intentionally hold it stronger and put our hands inside the pocket of his trench coat. Sometimes when I successfully release my hand from his hand, he would pretend to be sad and avoid eye contact with me for a long time until I initiate to hold his hand. No matter how I try to initiate a conversation with him, he would just only give short responses to me. I really couldn't stand looking at his pitiful face; it made me feels that I did something terribly wrong. When I couldn't stand the silence anymore, I would intentionally brush his fingertips to tell him that I'm going to let him hold my hand. But then he would avoid my hand and put his hand inside the pocket of his trench coat. When I finally got pissed off, I would forcefully take his hand from his pocket and squeeze his hand until he shouts from pain. After doing so, he would smile foolishly at me and kiss the back of my hand. At times like this, it gives me a feeling that I, the boyfriend, is trying to please my girlfriend. Although I may act like I didn't like his hugs and kisses, but I do really loved the way he holds my hand, hugs me, kisses me, smiles at me, and stares at me as if I'm the most precious thing in this world. I miss him.

I miss him so much, even if he's not around anymore.