Part I
Philophobia
When they speak of great love stories, they paint them in heavenly light. Of gallant knights in shining armour, risking their lives to fight dragons and conquer kingdoms for the hand of a fair maiden or damsel in distress. They tell of grand adventures to the far corners of the earth and over the edges of the world. Love stories written in forms of poems and love letters. Promises told between lovers for the future to read behind glass and along the lines of sentences in the palm of your hand.
Oh, how free and wild love seems! To little girls, it's the golden dream, finding your soulmate that fit their list of requirements in a husband. Dreaming of growing older to find such sweet adoration and warm gentleness. The world sells love like candy in a gum ball machine. Pick your favourite flavor and win a prize. If only it was really like that.
Perhaps that is how the other side of life is. All glitter and gold, innocence protected and cherished for the gift it is. Perhaps I envy that life. If only I had the luxury to linger in childhood but not once would I change my experience for another. Learning the tricks of the trade in youth taught skills later needed in life. Necessary for a world filled with anger and hurt. Well, at least in the low ranks of the class tier. Low class and proud.
Seen how they sell love in the pages of books and on television screens. But in action, looks are deceiving. Instead, kisses were given in bruises black and blue. Hugs traded for chains of addiction to abuse. Love given out in the forms of flowers and jewelry, apologies and promises to do better. Falling for it every time, giving in because it's not really his fault, she made him upset. If she had just stayed in her place, everything would've been fine. Strength that was admired became weak and brittle.
Seeing it up close and personal, instilling philophobia inside my heart. Creating a pessimist out of me. Closing off that part of the brains emotions, cutting it out of the heart, a wall of ice encased around my soul. Unfeeling and unwilling to fall into loves hands. Rejecting anyone who offered it, secretly yearning but in vain. No use in trusting false advertisement.
It wasn't so bad at first. Losing that side of your heart hadn't shown any signs of being problematic, instead it allowed freedom to play the game better. Becoming the toxic person, once an image loathed beyond words. But as they say, you'll eventually become the one you hate the most. They were right so far. Filling the void with commitment thoughtlessly given and abandoned on a whim.
Manipulation became the highlight of these flings. Empty words passed on to pique their interest and then, once obsession settled on, hit them with a text message stating the clear cut ends of this fun interlude. Dalliances are amusing when kept in check, alluding to a hard crash into reality that love is fake. The fear of abandonment causing self sabotaging moments to push those who fight harder to stay, lashing out with their insecurities to hurt and hate. It was the life worthy of someone damned like myself.
That's what I thought, for a long time. Giving up hope that it wasn't all a gimmick, trusting no one's intentions in the slightest. A fantasy told to ease the burdens of adulthood. Years passed by, wandering the land further and farther away from home. Daring to search in areas unknown to my current homeland. Catching glimpses of something that could be, not quite it however fleeting. Until I met her.
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Part II
Hanahaki Disease
Meeting her at random was, cosmic. Some romantics would say it was fate or destiny. Mayhap it was but the theory that events happening were predestined was a hard one to believe in again. That some things that might seem like a coincidence were for a reason. As it were, I felt the click of a bond forming. A primal thing of nature, just sensing another's aura matching your own.
With each word sent and spoken, written and read, the strings of fate pulled us closer together. Cinching tight before I could have the chance to run and hide from it. Paragraphs passed between the days, chapters being written within hours. I held my breathe for each response, seeing her typing and deleting, typing and deleting sentences that couldn't convey what she wanted to say.
At first, it was only letters and text messages. Friendship blossomed. Because of my inclination to lay claim on my friends from mixed perceptions on possession and obsession, we soon started naming myself as "husband" and to others "guard dog" all of which I accepted. If she had a problem with my actions, she'd speak out. As a gentleman, I'd concede and abide. All without voice, picture or touch, my infatuation planted. Ignoring the speck of warmth beginning to bloom. After all, there is no winning in love.
But then, on a whim, I joined her voice chat. Listened to what an angel must've sounded like. The closest I've been to heaven and here she was. Laughing. Something I suddenly so desperately wanted to hear for the rest of my life. For the first time in years, I felt a strong sense of yearning and hope. It hurt. It brought tears to my eyes that maybe I have a chance. Fear catching up a second later but unable to strangle this unusual happenstance.
A click on a link revealed truth and I knew I was ruined. I began to fall in love. The feeling was mutual, she was drunk on my affection, craving the little moments between life happening. I gave it to her. And I fell deeper. So when the first petal came, I was startled. I knew the distance between us was seemingly unsurmountable but I had no problems with it. It was a platonic love, I had decided once I learned of her fiance.
Once things came to an end between them, not for a moment did I believe I had a chance. Choosing to remain a treasured friend, I was satisfied. Alas, I was making a midnight snack when the coughing fit started. Having caught up on the latest escapades of the group chat, insomnia remained and a sweet tooth made itself known. In the middle of setting a cup of tea down, a tickle caught in my throat. No amount of clearing my throat helped and soon I began to cough.
The tickle grew bigger. Clogging my lungs, it felt like I was suffocating. On the point of retching now, I desperately clawed at my own neck. The urge to breath pounding in my ears with each frantic beat of my heart. Panic taking over when black spots danced at the edges of my vision. Collapsing to my knees, fingers clutching my neck. Until finally, with a wet cough, a petal plopped onto the ground below me.
Lungs heaving heavily, sucking in oxygen gratefully as I took a moment to collect my breathe. After a minute, glance down and with a jolt, realized what I just choked up. It was a blood red anemone petal. I'll admit, I stared for a long time. Frozen in time as reality passed by leisurely. Sighing, I merely picked it up and brought it to my room. Placing it delicately on my dresser in a cleared spot. Maybe it was a one time thing, I do have a habit of eating flowers. I simply brushed it off.
Until it happened again. And again. And again. By now, I've coughed up a handful of petals and my body feels colder, weaker. I've accepted my fate, having searched my symptoms. Hanahaki Disease. An illness born from love. Or lack of. By now, I know who the source of my adoration is and knowing that she is in love with another as well. Wishing them the best, supporting her no matter what.
Still, almost every day it's getting more and more difficult to breath. I can almost feel each flower blossoming in my lungs. More blood red anemone petals fall past my lips, unbidden. The first time I coughed one up in front of someone, was my best friend. They almost had a heart attack and then another once they too, knew what it was. Pleading and begging that I do something. It was too late, however.
It wasn't that bad. Worse things could've happened and I was only choking on feelings of love. Kind of ironic, actually. Fighting it for years only to come across her and now, this hollow knight finally found it. Thought about confessing. Thought about telling her how much she really means to me. Went through all the pros and cons if it all and when the pros outweighed the cons, I decided. That I would die with this secret then ruin her happiness.
Into the world I went. Intending to get lost and die somewhere far from home, somewhere no one would know me and pass my body somewhere unknown. Wherever I went, blood red anemone petals followed. A path leading to me if one knew to follow.
Once I found my lost place, I sat down and gazed outward. A sea of blue waves crashing gently against the shoreline. Trees at my back and a playful breeze dancing in the leaves. This was the definition of peace, tranquility settling in my soul for once. Today had a feeling to it. Like how some animals travel into the forest for their final resting place. Chuckling at the comparison, waiting patiently for the end.
I was prepared when it started. First the tickle, then the coughing. Followed by retching and choking. Glad I was sitting down for this, I closed my eyes and stopped fighting. Feeling the petals scratch my lungs, stems forcing their way upward and out. Pushing my lungs almost to the limit of capacity, with them desperately trying to gather air. Fingers scrabbled against their fleshy prison, wanting nothing by release.
Collapsing onto my side, body growing weaker with each passing second. Vision growing black and dark specs spiraling in and out. In front and around me lay my anemone petals, a pool of blood to the unbeknownst passerby. Giving in, all I could do was wish to see her face one last time. Lungs clogged by now, the flowers almost breaching surface, my eyelids fluttered shut.
Yanking back open when I heard her voice. Calling to me in a panicked tone. My heart twinged from the sound of it, causing me to stir slightly in a pitiful attempt to erase it. Soft hands grabbing my shoulders tightly as her voice continued to call out. The truth in her eyes the only clear thing I see, darkness having taken over. With a last burst of strength, my hand lifted to caress her cheek.
"it's not your fault."
I wanted to take back all those times I bit my tongue for consideration. I wanted to chance all those "what ifs" just to see if I had one to begin with. Regrets brought tears to my eyes, acceptance heavy on my bones. Or perhaps that was death claiming me. My hand slipped from her skin, landing on the sand beneath us. I hadn't realized she was kneeling next to me until now but it makes sense. And even now, I couldn't bring myself to tell her my feelings. Even now, with her in mind, I chuckled weakly and told a white lie.
"Maybe I should've told him after all."
It was all I could get out between gasps for air. At last, the flower blossoms fully bloomed, seeming to wait for my last words before claiming my lungs for their own. Suffocation was.. interesting in the end. I couldn't see her but I heard each brokenhearted scream. I couldn't smell her unique scent but I could feel the weight of her arms hanging onto me desperately, grief tightening her grip. I couldn't taste the petals behind my teeth but oh god, her pain was shattering.
Tears fell from us both, my life slowly turning into smoke before us. All the things I wanted to do with her would never happen. No more memories to make or share. No more hearing her giggle at some random joke or pun. In spite of all that washing over me, all I wanted, was for her to be happy. With my final thought of her, I wished for her to find her happiness, even if it wasn't with me. That's all.
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fin