❝It takes love to get to know how someone feels. It takes cherishing to accept the love we know we deserve. It takes the pain to know that we are just as valuable as the things we admire around us. I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't go throu...
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Quote uses is by Justin Wetch. 𖡎 ︴ "You told yourself seven minutes ago that you wouldn't be doing this. Why change your mind now? What a fool you are."
Against the warm streaks of light, a boy shifted in his spot while his eyes never leaving the pair of worn out maroon converse that dangled over the concrete railing—thus fair live, or this fair game. He had to choose between the two; maybe one would end up benefiting better than the other. The sunset, well he surely wasn't exactly used to seeing it in its beauty. With all the pills they prescribed; that kept him in a querencia of thickly clouded thoughts, but this... this right here was lypophrenia. The kind that one can show and not get blamed or backstabbed for. He liked it. It was an oddly comforting realization to him.
In a matter of seconds, the little happiness he had felt vanished into a forgotten cloud of serendipity; and there was nothing he could do. The way he was being treated as of no common way, yet his parents thought nothing of it. Simply it was for his best; usually for their own benefits and winnings. He made little to no effort as they dragged him up from sitting on the railing, and down all the way inside to his isolated room. He had never been a fan of such dull stuff. They kept him in there most of the time, bringing him half-decent meals every couple of hours. You know, like a normal three meals a day should be.
Sitting, leaning up, looking ahead at the botched yet still oddly bright white walls. He did that and that he did. There was nothing else he really did in there. They fed him pills, he pretended to drink them spilled. But was it for the illusion or was he himself an illusion? Why was he even thinking of that? Well, nonetheless he pretended. Just to go out and see the beauty beneath. If he tried to jump, they stopped him. If he tried to look, they stopped him–twice. If he even attempted to speak of some sort–they stopped him thrice. Thrice in a row, a row where there were three. He smiled. They did not. He made the slightest of minuscular sense while they just bummed away.
He begins; he began. He ignored the ticking of the clock while he had begun. No matter what, he would get back to them where he could tell his love to them all. To him, to her, to them; a beginning to the beginners. But then again what about the Sun... He thought about it before stopping in his track. His wheelchair wheels squeaked underneath him as wondering eyes watched. The scrunched up flowers. The pain. The beginning would probably be better.
"I feel so nice...but you? Are you even feeling at all?"
He shook his head. He blinked past the bags and wheeled away from the open window. Last time he was this close to the glass he had almost left. But just almost. He kept him going. Who the hell was he kidding? All five? Of them kept him going. But the piano. What about the piano? He—it was hard to piece it all up. Not the first love. But the first lie? He stopped once more in front of another door. He got up and left his wheelchair behind. His legs were okay today so he was able to walk out to the small garden. The sudden flower caught his attention and in that instant, he had forgotten of his previously held ones. Depending on the angel of the symmetric petals it looked as if they were slimmer at the sides. He had never seen anything like it before.
