day 7

gone

ɡôn/

adjective

1. no longer present; departed.

-

the scars hurt my arms as i walk down the sidewalk. the skin is throbbing, yet mildly pleasant in a way. still, it doesn’t stop me from wincing when the fabric of my jumper brushes against them.

i look down, avoiding the eyes of strangers. the air is crisp and i feel less safe than at home. but i need the air.

the air fills my lungs like an empty swimming pool, falling in the cracks.

i look up.

i see him. he’s walking out of the library, notebook in hand and a canvas bag over his shoulder. i guess it’s filled with books.

i stand still, gulping when he stops next to me. he doesn’t look at me though. he just stands under the bus stop sign, fiddling with his fingers.

i admire his grace. the way his fingers slip amongst each other and slide over the soft leather texture of his notebook. it reminds me of mine. what is it filled with, i wonder.

songs, perhaps. schedules, maybe. or stories.

i will probably never know.

but he looks over. he gives such a faint smile, dusted on his lips like watercolor. i swoon in the beauty of his eyes.

“hello,” his voice is as soft as feather pillows and deep as silver oceans. his eyes graze over mine so carefully.

he had spoken to me. i should probably say something in return.

“hey,” i say.

i sound so casual and calm as if this is nothing out of the ordinary. little does he know, this one hello is throwing my day off balance.

i don’t know if i should say something more, or just leave everything behind, or if i should let him continue whatever this conversation is.

“waiting for the bus?”

i nod my head slowly. i’m not waiting, but that doesn’t matter. i glance down at his notebook, and he notices my questioning gaze.

“oh, this?” i nod again, waiting for him to continue. his lips are thin and they crack into a smile a second time. “i’m writing a book. just a small one, nothing too exciting.”

i could say that i write too. i write the perfect combination of poetry and music. i could say that i thought he was fascinating, though i don’t know why. i could say so many things.

the bus came too quickly. the doors slide open and i’m sure i’ll lose him in the crowd. but before he vanishes, he turns around once.

“i’m connor.”

and right before he’s gone, i say two words. two words i haven’t said since i can remember. two words i’m almost too scared to utter.

“i’m troye.”

and he’s gone.

i don’t know if i’ll see him again. ever. but i hope so.

because everyone i used to know is gone.

i don’t want it to happen again.