i've never liked you too much, you know.

you aren't like other people your age.

it's hard to watch you try to interact.

you get attached too easily

and get too sad when it doesn't work out.

you're not social enough

and you try to avoid social interaction entirely.

you aren't who your parents wanted you to grow up to be

and you have no intention of changing.

and that's okay

you're anxious

you're too wordy

you're too cautious

you're self-destructive

you can't defend yourself

truth be told,

you already know all of this.

and that's okay.

you don't care what i think.

but i am you

and you are me.

so is this individuality

or is it apathy?

no matter.

you don't know

and you don't care.

and that's okay.

Everything was too loud for her to take. 

The colors were too vivid and the sounds were too sharp. 

Every touch felt like velvet and sharp needles. 

It was painful, her head throbbing and her eyes straining as she attempted to focus.

Someone was clicking their pen.

Another was tapping their fingers.

She wanted to snap both.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to focus.

Someone tapped her shoulder.

That sent her over the edge, tears flooding her eyes as her body shook.

She took another deep breath.

Nothing.

Everything just hurt.

It was too much.

Hey, you're not here and I'm not even sure where you are.

I asked your parents, but you had told them that you were with me.

I asked your sister, but you hadn't told her that you left.

I'm getting scared.

You've told me before that if you disappeared, it wouldn't be for a good reason. It meant that you were either dead or you finally ran away.

As I sat on the ground outside of your house, I called your phone again for the thirteenth time. It rang and rang, the familiar tone giving me a headache. Or maybe it was the stress. I didn't know.

"Don't try to call me," a voice snapped as the line was picked up.

"Michael!" I was ecstatic. You finally answered! "Where are you, dude?"

"It's unimportant. Either way, don't try to call me again."

"What? Why?"

"I'm being tracked, that's why. This is the fifth phone I've gone through, and I'm going to change my number after this call."

"Who's tracking you?"

"That's also not important. Either way, just don't try to call me again. I'll be back soon."

"How soon?"

"I can't know for sure. Just make sure that nothing happens to my sister, okay?"

"Okay." My voice was quiet. "I love you, Michael. See you soon."

"Love you too, Alex."

I didn't hear from him after that phone call.

I decided to assume he was dead.

The day was like any other.

It was a Friday afternoon, the sun hanging high in the sky. There was a slight breeze, shaking the deep green leaves and stirring the tall lily stems. It was early in the summer, the lilac trees were still blooming. The air was scented with them almost always and the breeze made the scent even stronger. The neighborhood was silent.

That is, until school was out.

It was the last day, bringing freedom for three months before having to go back to the seven-hour-prison.

There were two kids who were more than ecstatic about this. They were older kids, just finishing their freshman year. They rode their bikes together to school and home every day.

“Carter!” The boy looked up from his bike lock, breaking into an instant smile when he saw who was running towards him. It was his best friend, Jonah. “Carter, unlock my bike!” When he saw the panicked look on his friend’s face, he worked quickly. By the time his friend had reached him, the bike was unlocked and the lock was clamped back onto the bike.

“What’s going on?” Carter’s question was answered when three of the football players, all in their grade, came running towards them. They started pedaling and were able to easily lose them. Jonah knew this neighborhood like the back of his hand, so he knew the fastest way to his house.

The wind was hitting their faces as they hurried to Carter’s house. His parents were out of town for the next two weeks, leaving him alone at the house. Jonah’s parents allowed him to stay over, as to make sure Carter wasn’t alone the entirety of the two weeks.

When they finally got to the house, they didn’t stop running until they were in the house with the door locked. Jonah slid down as he sat against the door, Carter joining him.

“Why were they cha-” Carter started, but stopped when he looked at Jonah’s face. His left cheek was bruising, a cut across said cheek. His right cheek was red and his eye was bruising. “-Oh, Jonah.” Carter moved to his knees as he scooted closer, trying to get a better view of the injuries. The other just covered his face. “What happened?” He just huffed. “Jo, what happened?”

“Hanahaki,” he mumbled as he started to dig through his pocket. After about ten seconds, he pulled out a small yellow flower. “That’s what happened. Hanahaki Disease.”

“What is it?” Carter stood up, holding his hands out to help Jonah up.

“A person coughs up flowers,” he said bluntly as he accepted the help. Blood rushed to his head as he stumbled slightly. Carter quickly wrapped his arm around Jonah’s waist as the two walked to the living room. Jonah sat down as the other dug around for a first aid kit.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re all beat up and why those guys were chasing you.”

“Hanahaki Disease is because of…” Jonah stopped. He wasn’t ready yet, he needed more time. “Nevermind, it’s not important what causes it. Either way, I coughed the flower up in my English final and I was heckled until I told those guys what they wanted to hear.” Carter sat in front of him, opening the kit and taking out peroxide.

“What did you tell them?” He spoke absentmindedly as he wet a cotton ball with the solution. “Hold still, it’s gonna sting,” he mumbled before he started to work on the cut.

“I can’t tell you,” Jonah said through grinding teeth. “Something will happen if I do, and I don’t know if it’s good or bad.” Carter started to hum as he got out a bandaid to put on the cut.

“You might as well just tell me, and if it’s bad, then at least you told me.” He smiled as he unwrapped it. His voice had a sing-song tone to it. “I just want to know why they hurt you.”

“It was either me or you, and I decided that it was better if you didn’t have to go through that.”

“Why can’t you just tell me, if it was this important?”

“Because I don’t know what will happen if I do.” His voice was shaking with either anger or fear. Carter couldn’t tell. “If I told you, and it ended up hurting you, then I would have to live with that guilt.”

“Have you coughed up flowers before this?”

Jonah stopped for a second but decided that the truth was probably the safest route. “I have ever since elementary school. It started not long after we met, actually.” He smiled. “It’s different almost every time, though.” He began to twist the flower’s stem. “The flowers have a meaning.”

Luckily, Carter was an expert at flower symbolism.

“Since about seventh grade, it’s been yellow chrysanthemums.” He held it up to show him. Unrequited love.

“Before that, it was sunflowers. That was from fifth to sixth grade.” Admiration, dedicated love.

“From fourth to fifth grade, it was purple lilacs.” He put the flower in his lap. First love.

“Finally, from first to third grade, it was Queen Anne’s Lace.” A haven or sanctuary.

His last words were strained as he began to cough. Jonah felt the feeling of the petals coming up and put his hands to his mouth as he coughed. When it finally subsided, he looked down at his hands.

Suddenly, he started crying.

Carter stood up and looked at the other’s hands.

Daisy petals.

Loyal love. ‘I will never tell’.

He looked up at the other’s tear-stained face. His eyes were full of confusion.

“Jonah, you need to tell me what these mean. The meanings barely correlate.”

“What do you mean?”

“They all convey… love, Jonah.” He looked down. “They all convey love, safety, a feeling of…”

“I will never tell,” he smiled as he looked down at the petals. “I knew what these ones meant, you told me these.” He looked back up. “My heart is becoming more content, Carter. I don’t know how much longer I have.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“What do you think happens with this disease? The person just keeps coughing up flowers until…” He started to wring his hands. “Listen, the way this ends isn’t pretty.” He choked back a sob. “Eventually, the flowers will choke me. I’ll die.”

“H-How do we stop it?”

“I know that there is no use in stopping it.”

“Jonah, please.” Carter grabbed his hand as he sat on the couch next to him, intertwining their fingers. “Tell me what it means, how I can help you?”

“I will never tell,” he said softly. “The last flower. What else does it mean?” He leaned his head on Carter’s shoulder.

“It means ‘loyal love’. Why?”

“I just needed to know, just for sure.”

****

Carter stood in the rain, staring at the gravestone of his best friend. He had a book in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Jonah’s mother stood next to him.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Carter was speaking to the gravestone as if his friend was sitting in front of it. “You could have told me what it meant, and I could have helped you.” He started to grind his teeth, holding back what tears he had left.

“Carter, sweetie, what do you mean?” The woman next to him put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hanahaki Disease, what he died from. He never told me what it truly was.” He looked down at the pages in the book. “The disease manifests from unrequited love. The victim coughs up flowers until something is done about it. Surgery can be done, but you lose all emotions. You can try to convince the person that they love to return their feelings.” He took in a deep breath. “Or, you can do what Jonah did. You can let it kill you.” He started crying.

“Do you want a moment alone?” She smiled sadly at the boy.

“Please?” With that, she walked away. When he knew that she was out of earshot, He wiped his face.

“I love you, too.”

Happiness is instinctive.

I don’t mean that we strive to be happy, that is very obvious. Everyone strives for happiness, and that’s just human nature. It’s a drive to get out of a difficult and unsatisfactory situation.

No, I am not talking about being happy for me.

I am talking about being happy for the sake of others. 

Plastering on a smile while your brain shoots verbal bullets and assaults you with fists made of insults and hatred and fear. Your first instinct is to smile through it, never let anyone see who you are.

I started this at a young age, probably around five or six years old. I was bullied pretty bad through elementary school, but the teachers would always put on their reports of me that I was a model student and was always optimistic. Well, look where I am now.

But, I remain happy.

I’m almost sixteen, only held my first job for six months before having to quit for medical reasons; I’m supposed to go to therapy twice a week, but that doesn’t happen because my therapist has a hard-to-work-with schedule. I have severe anxiety, problems with socialization, and have the self-esteem of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.

I know, unusual example.

I don’t know how to act, because I never really got to be a kid. I was always with adults when I was in elementary school because no kids wanted to be around me.

Even now, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act because I never learned it. I never learned how to interact with people my age, and probably never will.

Still, I smile. I’m optimistic. That’s how I coped: optimism. I had a constant mentality of, “I’ll get there someday. It may not be today or tomorrow, but someday.”

Now, you might think, “that is a great mentality to have!”

It becomes a problem when you never learn to be you. You become a someday, an hourglass that always turns before time is up.

But, we remain happy.

Happiness is one of the greatest things in the world, it creates confidence and self-esteem that a person may have not known that they had.

In others, however, it’s like a constricting band around our souls.

Our souls stay small when we’re happy, allowing our brain and its hormones to take the reins. But when the soul expands with anger, or sorrow, or fear, it squeezes and hurts. It’s telling us, “shrink back, let your brain take care of it.”

We just want to scream, “why can’t I take care of it!?”

So, you never learn.

Anger and fear and sorrow all blend into one emotional blob, and you can’t really tell when one starts and one ends. Next thing you know, you’re on the floor crying or there’s a concerned family member in the room because they heard you screaming. You smile and apologize, saying that you saw something sad or that you dropped something on accident. They believe you, and leave you be.

Never leave a person like this be.

They’re unpredictable, either unable to make decisions on their own or taking extreme risks. You fear for their safety when they’re being brash, or being indecisive, or even just acting unusual.

But, we remain happy.

It’s an instinct that some have too much of. Similar to how some people have too much anger, or too much fear, or too much sorrow, people can have too much happiness. It flows over the edges of their soul and floods their wounds like honey over a cake.

Their souls are a bright yellow, but not too bright. It’s like soft sunlight, or wild daisies. They’re fragile, beautiful, but can cause issues for people with sensitive skin or a pollen allergy. Only some can be around us without having a negative reaction.

But, we remain happy.

Relationships become toxic because we can’t say no, can’t disagree; or maybe we can’t compromise, can’t agree. Some people are happy, living like this.

Then there’s me.

I’m indecisive, and can’t stand it. I want to make decisions easily, but I can’t.

But, I remain happy.

Instinctively happy, but happy nonetheless.