*drip*
The first tear
fell from her left eye. Her sea green eyes, which gleamed like emeralds back
then, is now bloodshot, swollen and sad. The luster is gone. Those emerald
eyes that were once full of elation now look dull, dark, – dead. The once
happy little girl turned into a walking, wrecking ball of negativity. All her
innocence and optimism, all at once, are gone.
*drip*
The second tear
fell on her pale cheek. She cannot comprehend what had happened to end her
fairytale story like this. She cannot fathom how she was in heaven at one time then
in hell the next. She asks herself what she did to end it this way. She looks
at herself in the dusty mirror beside her closet and studies herself. She’s
pretty enough. She’s smart enough. She’s nice. She doesn’t brag. She doesn’t
rant. She doesn’t whine. She’s not clingy.
She doesn’t need some high maintenance unlike those girls out there. She
has enough qualities to be loved. She deserves to be loved. Still, he left.
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*drip*
The third
teardrop fell down on the floor with such great impact. The world falls into
silence as the third drop falls hits the ground. She remembers every little
detail she knows of him. She remembers every moment that she has with him. She
remembers how happy she was when they were together looking for adventures in
that boring little town they were in. She remembers how his long eyelashes
looked like as they brushed against under his eyes when he closed his eyes as
they were about to kiss. She remembers how those wide, innocent, brown eyes
light up when he smiled. She remembers everything.
*drip*
The fourth
teardrop comes unnoticed as it is overlapped by another, then another, then
another. The flashbacks continue. Every memory she remembers breaks her heart
into fragments. She remembers the fight that happened nights before. She
remembers the yelling and how he said “I’m done.” She remembers how he looked
like when he turned his back on her and walked out the door with a loud bang.
She remembers everything – good and bad.
*drip*
Her pillow is
soaked with her tears. She feels so lonely. She misses the warmth she felt when
he hugged her tight on cold winter evenings. She misses the road trips they had
on hot summer days. She misses the late
night talks they had on things that made no sense. She misses the ‘good morning’ cuddles they
had.
*drip*
She gets up and
stares at the blank wall of peeling paint. She sees some tiny cracks on them.
“Does my heart have cracks like those?” she asks. “Can cracks be repaired?” she asks again.
Then she gets her own answers. “No. cracks can’t be put back together. You
can’t fix what’s been broken.” What they had is already broken and she knows that
there is nothing left to save. She is hopeless. She gets off from her bed and goes
into her dresser.
*drip*
The first drop
of blood trickles on the floor. It’s the first time that she cuts herself.
“It’s better to feel pain on the outside than feel it consume you from the
inside.” She says. She cut herself hoping that it will cover up the pain she
feels inside. After a few minutes, she
stops and says, “This is stupid.” She wipes off the trickling blood off her
wrist with her index finger. She stares at her bloodied finger then to the wall.
She goes to the
wall and looks at the cracks. Out of consciousness, she swipes her bloodied
finger in between the cracks. The once blank wall now holds a streak of red.
She observes how the blood dried up between the cracks. It concealed the
cracks. Then an idea gets into her mind. She goes down to the basement and
looks for some cans of paint, a bunch of old paintbrushes, and some pile of
newspapers.
*drip*
The paint drips
on the can as she swiped the brush on its lid. She starts to paint her walls with
different colours. She mixes the paints to make new shades and tints. She
swipes the paintbrush from left to right. Every swipe makes her feel a little
less sad and lonely. And from there, she learned to paint. She also learned
that some things cannot be completely erased, but there are ways to hide them.
Cracks can be there forever. You cannot fix
them unless you break everything and let them crumble into pieces to give way
to a new one. However, if you think of it, you don’t get a new house just
because the old one has cracks. Instead, you repaint the old house to cover up
the obvious cracks and scratches to make them beautiful again. Life works that
way. Forget the ugly past and cover it up with a vivid present. Move forward.
