Story that alternates between I and the he or she, making
sure you don’t confuse the reader with the switches. 500+ words
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I suddenly thought of the time when she would toss and turn
around, under, above, all over, in and out of bed at midnight, 2 in the morning,
until suddenly she needed to wake up when she hadn’t even slept. Then she goes to work half alive, at the edge
of sanity. Where the saddest of the
saddest smile and pretense are the only things she wore, the only things that
made sense. Where everyone is a ghost and the only real ones are her friends, there
are about four of them, honest enough to say that she smelled like trash. Try having that for three years then you know
you’re living in a nightmare. And you
want nothing but just to wake up.
Of course, everything might have just been a pure but real
exaggeration. I was young. I was 20.
And I was in love.
After six years, that little girl is now known for her remarkable
sense of independence and faith. Life is
beautiful and…responsible since then on.
The only problem is how do we distinguish freedom from fear? She would’ve been too naive to do so.
Now she understands that the price for freedom is fear. I suddenly thought of the time when she would
toss and turn around, under, above, all over, in and out of bed at midnight, 2
in the morning, until suddenly she needed to wake up when she hadn’t even
slept. Now that I’m lying naked beside
you. She thinks that a kiss meant forever,
I say a kiss is just as sweet as it can be.
She says that she’s in love right from the moment she saw you, I say you’re somebody that I used to know. She says
that if it weren’t you, there would be no one else, I say people come and go. She asks what have become of you ask I kiss. I ask, what is wrong with you? What is
wrong with me.
The price for freedom is fear. Fear from the idea of being enslaved by
emotions, the idolatry, the death of self just to be with someone you know
would leave you one of these days. Fear of losing who I’ve become just because
you know you can be shattered once again.
The fear from being weaken and vulnerable when you can choose not to
be. The fear of being left behind, just
like how it was before.
Then am I free after all? Sometimes, I look back at the times when it feels like there is more freedom in being reckless than being responsible. And I miss her and I want to be her.
Now that I’m lying naked beside you, there is her presence
in me. As I look at you, I am reckless with every kiss and every touch. And I think I do like remembering how it
feels for something or for someone again.
At least I do feel something now.
When we wake up, I might just be myself again. I guess this little girl just wanted to say
hello.
