Running out of time.
That's what I was doing. Or felt like I was doing. I was running out of time because my alarm had extended itself and my body could only take so many limits. It wasn't going to wake when it didn't have to. That was an absurd expectation.
So I slept, and I turned over, and I slept some more.
And then I woke, out of the blue, late, and with a sudden sense that time was slipping from me. It wasn't a bright awakening, to feel that I couldn't grasp time even if it were a physical thing. And to think something so otherworldly at such an early hour of the morning? No, not the greatest way to start the day.
So I rushed, jumping into leather pants, a white long sleeve with a grey vest over the top, my black chuck taylor's and bag thrown over my shoulder. I had run out the door, locked the door, taken the stairs and fast-walked my way to Hades Ink— or was rather attempting to.
In that time, all I could think about was how the people passing me on the street— in their office attire, with their hands full of documents, with their hair so perfect and smiles in tact— looked so put together. I was sure they weren't fretting about waking up late, not being able to eat breakfast, trying to predict the outcome of how the future day would pan out while loosing their breath because of their walk that wasn't really a walk, but a kind of skip-jog.
I bet they weren't worried about how they'd have to tattoo a client in about three minutes, when they still had about five minutes of their skip-jog left.
My head was foggy and confusing this morning— clearly— and I couldn't understand how I always wasted so much time just thinking. It confused me even more how all of my passing thoughts consisted of questioning my own actions. Time was slipping from me, yet all I still seemed to do was contradict my own way of living. Of over analysing everything. Of caring way too much about how I was perceived while at the same time not really even caring at all.
Who truly cared if they saw somebody skip-jogging their way to work because they had slept through their alarm and were now late? They wouldn't know the back story. Most importantly, they wouldn't care. They would see it and move on. It bugged me that I lived up in my head way too much, surely normal people didn't think this intently about basic daily things?
I stopped right outside the entrance door to Hades Ink, inhaling one huge breath, before pulling it open. The faint noise of our speakers played through the space and that, in some sort of small way, had put me at ease. There was only one real reason why I had woken up— late— yet so mentally mismatched.
That god damn blue envelope was still sitting in my bedroom, unopened.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Dee called from behind the desk. The door slowly closed until it bumped my back, yet still I stood, terrified, "It's been an awful morning," I shook, "My alarm didn't go off." It was now nine and my first client had yet to arrive, at least that was a plus.
Dee shrugged, taking me in for a quick second before looking back at the computer, "Could have fooled me, babe, you know I don't care if you're late." I knew that, which was why it angered me even more that I couldn't abide by one rule that wasn't even a rule. "Yeah but, I don't want to get into the habit of being able to get away with things just because you're the boss." I threw my bag into the corner of my station and went straight for where Dee was sat.
"Something happened." I outright said, standing opposite her like a little kid in trouble. Jesus, I was pretty pathetic. For some reason, knowing what had happened just the night prior was something I could not keep cooped up in my head. Somebody else needed to know, and that someone was my best friend. "Spill." Dee gasped, snagging her fingertips off the keyboard and onto her hips.
She stood too now, a little shorter than me though a lot more fierce. "Wait," She held up a hand, "Am I going to need to physically harm somebody?" She was so casual about it that I probably wouldn't put it past her. "What if it was something I did?" I tried her. "Oh please." She huffed.
I glanced down at my fidgeting hands, the way they buzzed with life. "Harry came by our place last night. He asked if you still lived there, probably because I opened the door, but he wasn't expecting me. Then he didn't have a message to pass onto you because he had actually been looking for me. He went past the old house and found out that way that I hadn't been there. He had an envelope for me. He said happy birthday. He asked questions that I didn't want to answer and then he left. Or I left, I shut the door on him." My lips moved at rapid speed to the point where Dee had begun reading my lips instead of focusing on hearing me, so that she could understand better.
She blinked, once, twice. "Okay," Her nose scrunched and she tilted her head, "He's obviously over his away time, he wants back in. To our life, your life, your pants... it could be anything." She propped a finger to her chin and thought further. She wasn't wrong, although I wish she had been. "Well he isn't getting back into my pants." I shuddered, pushing away the small warmth in my belly. No. No warmth. Nothing.
Being able to talk about Harry was something that came easily now, well, not easily per se, but he had been away for so long that it was beginning to feel like he had never even been there to begin with.
"I'm going to be honest with you." She never normally announced her need to be honest, which told me that she was about to say something she knew I might not like. "I only ever want you to be honest with me." I told her. "I know," She said, "And if you really don't like it then we can take a breather and then come back to it tonight." Feeling antsy and nervous, I nodded, because I knew she would let me be if I really didn't like what she had to say, but she also knew that I would never need a breather from her. "Tell me, I need a different perspective other than my own."
I fiddled with the messy knot my hair held that resembled a bun, and braced myself for a dose of knowledge I knew I would need to let sit within me. Let it brew. Let it sizzle. Let it simmer away. "Mae, you're going to need to make some big decisions for yourself. I know you don't like making them, deciding on shit is hard, I know, but this Mae, you, you can do this." She was very right about that— the fact that I could not make decisions, not the fact that I could do this because quite frankly I didn't think I could.
"Mm." I said in hopes for her to continue. "I think you might need to read whatever is in that envelope." She paused, allowing me to soak in the truth. "I think you might need to consider how you feel after it. You might feel nostalgic, you might feel upset, you might feel anything really. And no matter what you feel, I have your back, and it'll be okay." The insides of my cheeks felt raw and indented as I chewed on them like my life depended on it.
Dee gave me a small smile, "It's been so long since everything, I'm sure the grudge we've held has even passed it's expiration date." She was right, though it was sad. Sad that it had been so long that I didn't know if I could trust Harry's actions because I was so used to believing I couldn't. "I don't want it to seem like I'm justifying his actions. I'm over all that happened, I am. I just don't want it to seem like I'm putting myself back in a situation, or... like what he did was okay."
"I absolutely do not believe you'd do something like that. You know why? Because you have changed into the strongest person I know. We both know that what he did was not okay, it will never be okay, he fucked up big time and he'll have to live with that." She pushed away from the desk and walked around it, coming in front of me.
She looked at me with that face where she knew I was listening and grasping onto every word she gave me. "Holding onto things doesn't help you feel whole, and letting it go does not make you weak. Okay? If you want to make peace with who he is now, with who you are now, that's okay. It doesn't mean you're justifying his actions, it means you're mature enough to make that choice for yourself and still keep going. With him there or not." I gritted my teeth at her words, knowing he would never be there for me in the same way he once used to.
I shut my eyes and groaned loudly.
"I'm going to need to read that fucking thing." I huffed. Dee planted a soft hand on my shoulder, that knowledgeable head of hers nodding slowly. "I believe that might be best. It's okay to feel however you want to feel. You know how he is, how he can be, you know how to tread in that water and I know you'll be sensible enough to wear a life jacket for that shit now." She laughed.
I threw my head back, "I should have shoved him away with it, then I wouldn't be in this situation." The ring of the bell sounded and I turned around to meet the eyes of my first client who was extremely late.
"The world works in mysterious ways." Dee sighed, and I could not agree more.
-
The apartment was quiet.
I could hear the wind brushing against the exterior of the place, a few chirping birds here and there, but that was it.
My legs swung back and forth. Back and forth. My hands were clasped together in my lap, and I stared at my favourite colour wrapped in an envelope I didn't want to open.
There were so many thoughts running wild in my mind. Like with what intent had he given me this letter? If it was even a letter? It could be anything really. It could have a drawing inside? A gift? A picture? A small note that says 'fuck you'? So far those were the only options I'd come up with.
By opening the envelope, I didn't want to undo all the hard work I'd done on myself. I didn't want to transport my mind back to a time where I'd have blindly followed him anywhere. I didn't want that because I had my own rules now, ones that he'd have to follow if he wanted even the slightest chance of talking to me without me biting his head off.
I leant forward and reached for the envelope sitting atop the dresser in front of me. It felt cold between my fingers and I found that fitting for how I felt. I also didn't want this to warm me, knowing Harry had written me something. I didn't trust words from him anymore, and that made me feel slightly better, remembering that the words could sound nice but he wasn't here to bring meaning to them.
I would read whatever I had to read, and after it, I would be okay. Now impatient and eager, I slid the triangular piece of paper upwards and slid out the sheet of white paper. The paper felt indented, which meant he'd written on it physically. I hadn't prepared myself for that.
And as I unfolded the doubled over sheets, a piece of him written out before me, I read.
Mae,
You said you loved me.
Back then.
You'd still said it though.
I remember hearing you say it so clearly, you couldn't have said it clearer really, and honest to god I hadn't known what to say. Not in a bad way, not like that. But in a way where I wanted to say too many things and couldn't decide on what.
I'm not too sure I would have realised I'd loved you back then. I think that was why I hadn't said it in return. When you were standing in that room with me, at our lowest point. I was too young and caught up in that shit with the guys to realise that what I felt for you was love.
I know that would probably make you sad, to know that I hadn't realised I'd loved you when we were so close. And we were. We were really close. Maybe I'd never realised just how much I depended on you.
I know you think nobody needs you, that people could function just fine without you. But god, that is so not true. You are the brightest vision I've ever come across. I can picture you rolling your eyes at that, if I'd said that to you instead of writing it down like I was now. You would shake your head, roll those eyes, and let out a hot little breath at how absurd I was being.
But I'm serious. I'm not sure if you'll ever get to a point in your life where you'd believe words like that, I hoped you would. You deserve to hear just how special you are, even if I'm not the one telling you.
I saw you last night, at Happy Daze. After three long years of not seeing you, I saw you. I saw you. I still see you. And not just because you were standing in front of me. But because I still see all that you are. All that you believe you're not. I've picked my brain over the years about how I could get you to finally believe and understand the truth to my words when I tell you that you're amazing.
You are an amazing person Mae.
Maybe you'll never believe it. Maybe it's not my business to even tell you that anymore. But you are, and I hope to god every day that you eventually realise it.
This is no excuse, I know. But I've never really been shown real love. A good love. A healthy love. I'd never seen it in full, in all of its beautiful forms. So I didn't believe it. Didn't think it could be something a person like me would ever see. I knew of half love, a love that was sometimes there depending on how I acted, a sort of love that grounded me sometimes but never enough.
I hadn't known what real love was back then, and it may have costed me everything good in life to finally realise, that it is you.
You are real love. You are good love. You are healthy love. You are the very definition of the word.
I know you hate sappy shit, but you deserve to hear this. I want you to sit with it all and realise that you are such a rare fucking girl. Do you realise that? There is no one else like you. Nobody. Though I haven't tried to look, because you have left a shadow in my life that only you can bring life to.
I've come to terms with the fact that it may never see light again— that shadow— but I would rather it dark forever than let anybody else take your place.
If you want to know one thing I've learnt about myself? It's that I can't let you go.
I wish I could tell you everything that I had been thinking back then, but I hadn't been thinking, not properly. I don't want to trudge everything up again, but going back to that moment, in that spare room with you, I won't ever forget it. I won't forget that look on your face and how I did every possible thing to break your heart, unconsciously.
I swear I saw the light fade from your eyes. Maybe that was the moment you took it from me too? Does that make sense? I hope so.
The band had meant a lot to me once, more than my family at the time. They were my friends, and they were my family, and I really thought that with them was where I wanted to be. I had worked hard with them, dedicated a lot of my time to our work, I had trusted them because they had shown me that I could. But people let you down, I know you know that, because what they did to me, I did to you.
I won't ever forgive myself for that. And in that moment when you wanted me to stay, when you told me that you loved me and that you could give me more than what they could, I believed you, but I still made the wrong choice.
I had wanted that life with them until I didn't, until every possible sign from the world had shown me how bad of a decision I'd made. I'm sorry that I left you when you needed me. I'm sorry that I threw away everything we'd built up, because it was real and it was beautiful and it was young, like we were, but it had the potential to grow with us.
I'm sorry I stopped that.
If you're wondering why I wrote this all down, it's because so far, this is the only way I can understand things for myself. It helps, seeing what goes around in my mind. Sometimes it feels like someone is listening, like someone else can carry my thoughts when I'm so sick of doing it for myself.
I've written songs about you. I'm not sure if you'd like them or not. Maybe you'll hear them one day, or maybe I'm seriously reaching right now. But they help too— the songs. They help me to put things into perspective.
I was a shit guy back then Mae. I didn't know how vital it was to communicate all of these things, like feelings and views and emotions. It sounds really stupid now, thinking about how I just wouldn't have voiced my real thoughts about certain things.
As hard as this is to outright say, it's true. We wouldn't have worked back then, together. It would have been good for a while, I would never have hurt you intentionally. Never. But slowly I would have unravelled and made all the wrong choices, right there with you by my side, and that isn't something I would have wanted for you to experience, even if we were together for it.
I wouldn't have treated you the way you deserve. I wouldn't have picked up on the tiny details and cherished them, I wouldn't have written all of these songs that make me see more and more what a real life angel you are. It took losing you to make me truly realise the impact you had on my life, and it may be too late, but I see it now.
So, getting back to what I'd learnt about myself, it's true. I can't let you go. The concept of time is a fucked up thing that had never worked quite well for us, but I can honestly say that the man I am now— the one I will be when giving you this letter— is someone I would want you to have in your life.
That was my thought process in bettering myself.
On the days where I remembered the shit guy I'd been to you and all the wrong ways I'd gone about things, I thought about what kind of man I'd want to see you with. I thought about what made a man good enough to be in your mere presence— because god knows I definitely had not been it.
So I thought and thought and thought.
That was my end goal. To become him.
A better man for you.
In any way you'll take that, if that's as a lover, a partner, a friend. I will take whatever you give me. And if you choose to give me nothing, then I will take that too.
Words don't mean much anymore, you know that, I know that. They only hold truth where supportive action is given. And that is what I plan to do for you Mae. I'm going to keep writing to you. I'm going to leave the envelopes in places I know you'll find. You might not read them, you might not even read this one.
These words might forever be unread by you, maybe collecting dust one day until you stumble across it when you're older and you think 'oh yeah, remember that guy?' And if that does happen, then that's okay too.
I'm writing this only a day after seeing you again and this is how much you influence me. I'm writing this for you, just as much as I'm writing it for me. A goal for myself, so that when I man up and decide to finally give this to you, I want you to know that I'll have done the work. That I'm serious about all of this. I know the only way you'll truly believe me is if you see it, if you physically see me trying, being there. And that it what I'll do.
Of course if you really want me to back off, god, I will. If you keep finding these random letters in places and think 'fuck this guy', and you really want me to leave you alone, I'll do that. So maybe just give me a serious heads up if that's the case.
But yeah, that's where things are at right now.
I'm sitting on my dingy apartment floor that in no way feels like home, but this letter does. It gives me a sense of home because I'm writing it to you. You think home can be a person? Because I'd like to think so. Not that there's any like definitive yes or no answer to that question, but if home could be a person, then you would be it.
You know, a lot of the time I wonder about you. About what you're doing and if you're smiling and what you're thinking about. I like the thought of you all grown up, I wonder how life has carried you and if it has been gentle after our whirlwind storm.
Also, I think you're the most interesting person I'll ever know.
When I think about you, I think about summer, I think about all of those flowing sundresses you used to wear and how you would always try to add something blue. I think about your smile and how it would grow wide only when something was really funny, if not, then you'd give that little smile which was still just as beautiful, but not the real thing. I think about the way you would get excited over cherries, or those watermelon popsicles, or your journal.
I become mesmerised at the way you think about things. I get the sudden urge all the time to know what you would think about this, or what you would think about that? And would Mae think this lyric sounded right? Or the other? Or would she like both and try to re arrange it differently?
So, metaphorically, and maybe a little literally too, I am knocking on your door Mae. It's a new door, I can tell, it's one I haven't memorised the grooves of, or understood the kind of wood it's made from, but it is still by far the only door I would choose to knock on for the rest of my life. You could answer, or you could not, and either way I will stand outside of it.
You could look through the peephole and see me sitting there, you could crack it open a slither years later and still see me there. I will be there. Always.
If you are feeling uncertain, or like you're not sure whether I will follow through, then that is okay too. It gives me all the more reason to show you just how serious I am.
It's not what I wanted to leave you behind, it felt like I was constantly looking backwards trying to find you but you were never there. For a long time I kept searching through fog and clouds and all this shit not knowing I was even lost.
But then, metaphorically again of course, I found the door. Your door. It was then that I realised, stupidly, that you weren't left somewhere behind me. I was looking in the wrong places, for the wrong reasons, as the wrong person.
Your were forwards, in front, up, to the sides. You were everywhere Mae. And you still are.
You, Mae, have taught me that the world can be good depending on how you see it. The world has carried so many versions of you, and for that I am jealous.
It has kept you safe through moments when you've needed it, when I wasn't there to do it myself. You adapt and you let it be and you move on. And that is something that I've learnt from you. That the world will always be a constant and it is us that change, we go through versions of ourselves to be what we need at the time.
And all of that change that we go through is okay.
Can you believe that I have managed to grasp that from a few glances at you? From the memory of you, a few stolen glances and the strong way you carry yourself. You've changed and I see it, yet I love you all the same.
I'm just outside your door, I always will be.
Shit, I just realised that may have sounded creepy as fuck and I'm writing this in pen.
Anyways, you know what I mean, you always do.
Love,
H
I placed the pages onto my lap and sat in silence for a minute. Not even my mind was thinking, so at least that was something. I couldn't get a grasp on my feelings even if I wanted to.
I'd done it, I realised quickly, I'd really just read it all. I'd read over every single word and yet I was still here— breathing, sitting on my bed, safe, home. I wasn't exactly sure what I had been expecting, but it definitely hadn't been that.
Or had it?
Hadn't a part of me been anxious in preparation of what kind of things he would have said. If I had thought the contents would have been something bad, I would have felt annoyed, angry even, and I wouldn't have let even a second pass before ripping into the envelope.
So that left me with what I'd thought— I had been expecting something along those lines. I had just misjudged how meaningful it could have been. In all of our time together, not once had I gotten that much emotion out of Harry. I had gotten a lot of emotion. But never that much.
I was still staring blankly at the wall as I revised what Dee had told me. I would feel how I would feel after reading it, and however I felt would be okay. But what if I couldn't put a name on the emotion I felt? Would it still be okay then? Was that still valid?
I knew my insides felt warm, my heart a little shaken, my hands completely unsteady. Holding grudges was the only way I could prove to myself and to other people that I was not easily accessible. That I could stand my ground when it came down to it. But maybe it wasn't the healthiest way for me to deal with this. In saying that, I didn't know a healthier option either.
It were moments like this one, where I wished someone could tell me what to do, what decision to make. I needed perspectives, lots of perspectives and different ones to my own. But did I want different perspectives just so somebody would give me an answer to a decision I was too scared to make on my own? Maybe. Possibly. There was a large chance for that to be true.
Choices, decisions— I could make them for other people, though never for myself.
I lay the letter on my bed, down by my side. I let myself fall back onto the comfort of something that was mine, sometimes familiar always made me feel better. Maybe I needed to mull it over, read the letter again later, after my skin had cooled down from its sudden warmth.
Closing my eyes, I saw the words there too, flashing in the nothingness of my vision.
I was slowly drifting. Into the words? Into slumber? Maybe both.
But sleep, yeah, maybe that would help.