Love for love, by love of love

“I really like you, so please go out with me !”

The summer that I fell in love with you was a short one.
The sun was shining high above, so I decided to go outside.

Yet as I walked and walked, the streets started to blur, and soon enough I was lost. I could’ve called my parents, but my fingers never touched the dial-up button. Instead, my path eventually led me to a playground nearby and so, I sat down on a swing.

The summer heat was unbearable though, so I was digging through my bag for a water bottle.

I wonder if that was what drew your attention ?

No use on thinking back on it now, but I thought you were pretty stupid to do that. Most people wouldn’t approach a lonely girl on a playground, ya know ?

Others would think you were preying on me or something.

But maybe that was what you were trying to do.

Because you, and your stupid face sweept me away. Your hand was glistening with sweat, or maybe it was water ? I couldn’t tell. Still, you shoved the water bottle in my face, and ran off. Was that a way to pick up girls nowadays ? I don’t think most girls would appreciate a bottle shoved in the face though.

And maybe because I was the same as them, I threw the bottle away and called my parents.

Did you ever come back for that bottle ? Was it a mistake to throw it away ?
I wouldn’t know, because you and me, we never talked.

We did go to the same school, so maybe that’s a plus. But still, you were kinda stupid, so maybe it’s better we never met formally.

“Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.”

Mom was pretty confused when I said that. No matter though, since she doesn’t need to know what happened back there anyways.

✤✤✤✤✤✤

The second time I went back, the bottle was gone, and you were there.

You wore the same clothes as you did yesterday, and those hands of yours were still glistening with sweat. You were angry, though. Even though I was far away, I could feel how intensely you stared at the swing I sat on. I wonder what you were thinking about, then. But there’s no way to know now, since when I approached you, all I got was a punch to the face.

I guess that was my fault, huh ?

You started asking why I left the bottle there, and why I even came back. To be honest, I didn’t know why I came either. Well, that didn’t matter, did it ? If anything, I don’t think you were expecting an answer either. And so, maybe I wanted to defy your expectations a little. After all, you were hoping for a cliché meet-cute, right ?

“It’s because-”

Suddenly, the memories of summer fade away, and I return to the scene in front of me. Your face has an unappealing frown on it, and students have begun to gather around us. You grip the hem of your uniform shirt, and even from such a distance, I can see your hands tremble. What had happened ?

Before I could even speak a word, you gave a hurried bow-

“I’m sorry, but that’s my true feelings !
I’ll be going now, so please forgive me !”

And ran away, the wind messing up your hair.

The school bell rings, the day has ended. The students quickly disperse, their chatter lingering in the rustling leaves.

Ah, I’ve been rejected.
…

My own feelings, there’s no way to understand them, is there ? Even though the confession scene is over, and you’ve run away from the burden of giving me a proper goodbye, I’m still here.

The loud sounds of student talking can be heard, as the leaves flow across the breeze. Maybe I made a mistake. If I had waited, then something would’ve changed, and you would’ve liked me. If today wasn’t windy, if I had been more patient, if that expression never reached your face, and I was never reflected in your eyes-

Then maybe you would’ve loved me.
Then maybe something would change.
Then the world wouldn't still be as it always was.

But the sun is setting already, so I have to go home. Shuffling my bag, I grab my bike-chain keys, and head for the parking lot. Usually, I’d be near home by now, you know ? But because I wanted to express my feelings, I stayed behind. Turns out that was for nothing, too. That’s alright, though. Because it’s always the same, and we won’t even talk to eachother after this, so I’ll be okay.

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

I say that, but as I grab my bike, you were there again. In the distance, your footsteps echo through the emptying schoolyard. It was you. The same you, with your messed up hair, and your disheveled shirt. The you that was frowning, and had trembling hands, it was you.

But you were smiling, and when our eyes met, I realised that maybe you did prey on me back then, after all.

✤✤✤✤✤✤

I always wondered why the rivers here are so clean.

The news, the internet, even word of mouth always says that rivers and lakes are all dirty from garbage. But the river in front of me is clean, sparkling from the beams of the setting sun. Its water flows gently, like a line of silk stretching infinitely into nothing, to an unreachable horizon. Maybe that’s where these feelings of mine are going.

Stepping out of my bike, my eyes lay on the sun in the distance. It’s like a painting, the scenery coated in a nostalgic orange. Blades of grass wave back and forth, as if caught in the breeze. I don’t think that’s how winds work, though.

The grass crackles under my footsteps, and I take a seat on the riverbank. Usually, there’d be more people here, but it’s getting late. Yet, out of the corner of my eye, I can still see some couples walking along the bridge, and that old man who always stands there, looking at the river.

He’s always been here. Even when I was in middle school, he was there, every day. Whenever we’re near the riverbank, Mom always makes a point to stay away from him. At first, I thought he was weird or something, but no one knew him at all. It’s like he just… appeared here. Standing, staring at the skyline.

“Hey, what are you looking for ?”

The words leave my mouth before I could think them through. The old man perks up, his grey eyes looking over to my brown ones. Even though I’m only a gap of distance away, his pupils move rapidly, as if seeking something.

                                                  "Are you blind ? Why are you here, then ?"

At my words, his eyes seem to crinkle just the slightest, and he gave a smile :

                            "I am merely here to see the scenery. After all, this is my hometown."

That doesn't answer anything I've asked. If you're blind, how could you 'see the scenery' ? Your whole world is shrouded in darkness, and you're essentially lost without a walking cane. To me, being blind is the worst way to live- because when you're blind, you lose your window to the world, and you lose your way in the process.

                              "That doesn't make any sense. How can you see the scenery ?" 

Instead of answering, the old man just wistfully looks away, his eyes still seeking something. Something he hasn't found, and something apparently no one has found. I look towards where he pointed his gaze, only to see a dimming scenery. The sunset's orange was now tainted by a deep purple, and the beautiful nostalgic coat from before slowly fades. I let out a sigh, and take a seat on the grass. The wind blows gently against my hair, and it was as if I had fit just right in.

The old man is still there. Rather, he never left. He never answered my question, but I was hesitant to ask again. A cloud of silence hangs over our heads. What am I going to do ? I can't just stay here until the end of days- I have things to do, work to complete, friends to meet. Yet as I looked towards the dimming sky, my mind empties itself, remaining only one phrase-

                                                                     "But why?"

The question clings to me, as if it's trying to fill my head with it only, and I feel my mind start to spin. Why ? Why is it that I'm here ? Why did I ask him that question ? Why does he think he could see the scenery, even though all he can ever see is darkness ? Why is it that he's here everyday ?-  My endless query slowly turns into a tornado of questions, constantly twisting and turning.

Somehow, it falls under the pretend of an actual tornado, and ransacks my mind with its constant quizzing. Yet even though it feels like I'm constantly being thrown back and forth between states of questioning and acknowledgement of not being answered, to those people who are crossing the bridge, I might look as calm as ever.

  I lay down on the grass, exhausted. How can someone get so tired from just thinking ? I suppose that's the work those philosophers back then had to go through ? I'm not sure if the circumstances were the exact same, though. Even so, I'm sure those old men had to go through the same experience of questioning things, right ? If not, how would they create a rule of life created by their questioning ? People used to tell me that philosophy was useless, and that it's all pretentious writings of past times, but to me, it's quite interesting.

           Of course, I don't follow any of them, because even if I did- nothing would change.

The crows make their way into the sky, signalling that the day is ending. Their caws fill up the quiet atmosphere, and in a way, it's almost peaceful. I let out a small yawn and feel my eyes begin to close.

And so I slept.

And so I dream.