Teardrops... Blood... Paint

*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.  

*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.