The post office is at least 5 blocks away, but somehow time sprints from the past and Jaeda finds herself under the old oak tree, squeezed between the shadows and the fading paint of an elderly bench. The wind blew a strong haunting gale and Jaeda's icy fingers curl tighter around a flimsy piece of paper. She could count on her fingers and toes places she would rather be in, places she should be in at 6PM on a dark freezing Sunday of the twenty-third - anywhere except the place she owes a thousand apologies to.
Jaeda would like to think she was young and immature five years ago. She was a whiner; austere and a little too close-minded, preferring to read under the cooling shade while eating chocolate covered sticks, than to run and sweat and laugh during fiery periods of the sun's majestic concession. And so, to this day it strikes her as odd, bordering insanity even, that a boy who belonged under the sun would lower himself to the depths to find her, a girl who befriends obscurity and solitude.
But he did.
He claimed that he was just like her, that he too preferred the reclusive over the gregarious. At first, it seemed quite so. He used to sit by her, arms around her shoulders like a shield and transport her to the jungles of India or the great dynasties of China with his compelling and dynamic tales. When it rained, he used to show her funny videos or tell her crazy jokes, all within the warming touches of bitter hot cocoa. And when the rain clouds bid farewell and the sun returned from its absence, he used to take pictures of her by the brightest window because the glimmering kisses of the sun on your face illuminate the world between its two edges and I want to be the only one to have the privilege of owning it.
Jaeda knew however, that all that was a facade. His eyes would look distant and a little glassy every time he glanced at the window to see the other kids running around an oak tree and an elderly bench, while he was trapped in the cobwebs of the dark abyss with her. As the days passed, his cocoa became sweeter and his tales became mere circulated rumours and cliches. During that time, Jaeda felt an unmistakable burn on her arms, a white hot pain occupying the left side of her head (heart).
And so Jaeda made the mistake of taking his hand and letting him lift her up to stand (crumple) beneath the glowering rays.
(the days were long. they were empty. and they were bright. the other kids refused to acknowledge a creature such as her, remaining defiant in their belief of a hypothetical and hypocritical social hierarchy where the sun is might and everything else is inferior. he was too blinded, too overjoyed from returning back to his origins, to notice the spiteful looks she received when she so much breathed.
the fabric of their relationship was being pulled apart mercilessly so that only a few strands were left hanging.
she once thought of taking him back to the depths. but when she sneaked in to his bedroom at night, it was bathed in artificial light from all four corners and the most genuine curve of lips she's ever seen was plastered on his face. and right then she knew it would be the biggest sin of her life to rip apart that smile.
she took a pair of scissors and cleanly snipped apart the last strands.
she fled away.)
the streetlamps finally turn on. Jaeda gets up and heads in the other direction, far away from regret and the safety of an apology letter submerged in fire.
a/n 632 words of crappy and not logical whatsoever but it's finally done after collecting dust since november so yay \o/. criticisms are welcome.
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