First Tale
My biggest flaw has always been thinking too much, and yours has always been not thinking enough. And if it were any other summer, I'd say we were never fated to meet. But that one heartbreaking summer, you showed me I was wrong.
My half-bored, half-broken mind drifting in and out of thoughts, sitting on the stairs leading to the pond of my grandparents' home, ill-fitted clothes, hair a bird's nest, glasses slipping off the bridge of my nose, and a pen and notebook in hand. So out of touch with this small town living, so out of place in this nature's haven.
And you.
A painted portrait of everything this little place embodied. Loose slacks and a mismatched, buttoned-down shirt, dark skin by the tropic's heat, and a grin so free, it reminded me of when I was six and running through wheatfields in this town.
I looked up from the wooden steps I was perched on, and you looked down from the make-shift bamboo bridge right ahead. The water between us, usually muddled and gray, was particularly clear that day, as if creating an emerald glass surface for you to make your way to me.
But you didn't.
And I averted my gaze, putting my pen back to the paper, acting unfazed while you walked away, loudly laughing at the silly little jokes your friends cracked.
It was a minute moment lost in many not memorable ones. At least, it would have been had you not made your way the next day, sitting right beside me as if that is where you've always belonged. As if there's no other place you could ever be.
You pulled the earphone off of one of my ears, and I startledly looked up, right at your slightly smug, and partly nervous smirk.
"Occupied?" You asked.
"Not really," I replied, even when what I really wanted to ask was who you were.
"Let me keep you company," you said, and the rest of the conversation faded into a cloud of millions of conversations that followed.
That was a summer like no other. You showed me things I never planned on seeing, starry nights and boat rides, running barefoot through empty lands, climbing trees, and sitting on make-shift bamboo bridges, legs dangling four feet above water.
Broken and bored, you took me right out of all my senses and sensibilities. Laughing, teasing, and smiling, you turned it all into a dream. And lost in that dream, I forgot all that I should've worried about.
Maybe that's why when you crawled closer to me on that tiny, shaky boat, I didn't ask you to stay back. And when you placed your calloused palm on my cheek and hesitantly placed your lips on mine, I pulled you even closer by the collar of your shirt. Your hands travelled to the back of my waist, and I didn't even stop you then.
I didn't want to. The only time I wanted to utter those words was when you pulled back. But I lost those thoughts as we dazedly laughed when we noticed the oar floating away from our boat.
I hated touch, hated the thought of anyone tainting me. But your hands felt like worship and your lips a prayer. It immortalized me, the way your touch glided across my skin. So, I never could once stop you when you prayed to me, only let the chants flow into me.
I stepped away from my flaw. And I didn't realize it then, but you did too. As you sat beside me on the bamboo bridge one evening, your head on my shoulder, you let yourself feel. Secrets, you told me, you had those too, and you told them to me.
That summer, we lost ourselves to each other, but we forgot it.
All we had was one summer.
After all, I was a temporary guest in this small town. And you were too wild for anywhere else but here.
All I wanted that summer was to be yours. And you let me be. Too wild for anywhere else, but you tamed your touch to fit me.
My last night there, you let it become desperate. Every single touch was a plea, and all I could do was let it flow through me. You pushed through me nd I let myself go, taking all of you in. I called your name, and you breathed mine. We held on as if that's all we could do to stop from falling apart. We held on that way all through the night. At least, I think we did.
But, come morning, you were nowhere in sight. No clothes, no smile, not even a phone number in sight. You left like you didn't exist, but I still felt your essence like fingerprints marked into every part of my soul.
I didn't cry.
I pulled on my clothes and dragged myself inside. I washed you off of me and packed my bags, but I didn't cry.
But, as I sat in the car that day, and looked through the window, leaving the summer behind, I met your eyes, your mismatched slacks and buttoned-down shirt as you watched me ride away. You didn't wave, nor did you smile.
Then, just for a few moments, I let myself cry and break apart.
