If you flip pages through the dictionary you crossed paths with in a library or in your dad's office while waiting to know for how long you'll get grounded for doing something you weren't supposed to and you come across the letter "l," you'll notice how even a freaking dictionary doesn't know the real definition of love.
But I do.
Love // a feeling that drops its luggage in your life and leaves you in pain the whole goddamn time. You keep thinking, dreaming, speaking of that person you've once shared that feeling with even after you shouldn't; because love never lasts.
So, yeah; that's what I've come to notice after my very own experience with love. God, this word feels so bitter on my tongue. But not as bitter as her name's taste.
Why in the world didn't it last? We both shared the same interests, the same reasons, even the same location we went too every so often.
We both had enough problems to last us a lifetime.
So, why the hell didn't it last? Why did I have to stare at her perfectly plump lips as they pronounced the most devastating words my eardrums have ever had to make clear to me.
"It just isn't working, anymore."
That's all it took. That's all it took for my head to start twisting and turning with irrational thoughts. Well, I thought they were irrational back then; now I understand how they were true.
She was- hell, she is - everything to me, and it hurts to know that I wasn't anything in her eyes. In the-person-who-mattered-the-most's eyes. It hurts to know how it was so easy for her to drop me out of her life as if the train to moving on was just out of the door.
But it's been 3 weeks and I still haven't managed to get a ticket to that train.
So, I spent most of my afternoons in those few weeks staring at the ceiling in a dark living room, the only thing illuminating the ceiling is the light coming from the muted TV screen. I just stare and not even dare to blink; she invaded my vision whenever my eyelids did their rightful job in covering my eyes. Everything about her invades everything i do: Her smile whenever I manage to get a doze of sleep, her mesmerizing eyes whenever my eyes unfocuse, her laugh whenever I'm alone; she haunted me in everything I did. Or at least tried to do.
Here I am; a physically healthy (yet not so sure about the mental part) teenager, lying on a couch in his dark living room on a Friday evening, an uncomfortable cushion under his lower back but he's too depressed to move it from under there, staring at the ceiling when he should probably be out to party or something.
But after getting drunk last week and promising Mr. Narren that it won't happen again, I kind of am stuck doing what I've been doing for a fair amount of time.
Speaking of Mr. Narren, I have a meeting with him tomorrow in the morning. I'm seeing him again after falling into this depression - or what Mr. Narren likes to call the ability to experience feelings other people can't. He practically describes me as a hero with that term; still, he wants to remove my super powers of feeling things others can't.
Makes sense.
Deciding to go to my room before my parents come home and I'm forced to have a silent family dinner with them again, I run up the stairs, two at a time. As if on cue, I hear the front door getting shut at the very exact moment I shut my door. Spooky, huh?
And for the rest of the night, I'm slumped against my room's door, thinking about Oak.
----
I put on my usual outfit; an oversized hoodie with some sweatpants that hung low on my waists. Yeah, I kind of miss every silent family dinner; they get uncomfortable, you know.
