Reader Story: About a Boy

aboutaboy

Shared by Chibimoekko.

*I am not anyone but myself: I am real, no matter how much you deny me

A man – no, a boy – lost himself with me once. He said I was beautiful, smart, funny, genuine, and much more. Like the one before him, he told me I was the sweetest, purest, and most innocent girl he had ever met. He liked my mind, my scent, my voice, my body… He claimed that I drove him crazy, so much so that he had to restrict his time with me. He told me how much of his thoughts would wander off to me, and how he would only calm down after having his coffee and started focusing on work. At first I was incredulous, but then I saw traces of me in his words, his writing, his manners, his behavior and finally I believed. A small voice inside him called out to me and told me to stay; so, willingly I did, all the while knowing deep down what awaited me.

He would call out my name and search for me in his sleep, and pull me in so that I would rest my head on his chest. At first I thought him awake or that he mistook me for another, but when I tried to slip away out of discomfort, he would pull me back in forcefully and mutter my name multiple times, all the while deep in noisy slumber. He did that several times during our time together. When he dozed off on the couch, he would mutter my name. I would smile to myself before gently waking him up with a voice he liked so that he could brush his teeth and come to bed. He remembered nothing when he woke up, of course. I was left to question myself why he would do that despite how little time we had together.

The last time I laid with him, our hands were together almost the entire night. During his dreams he would turn his back to me at times, but would always soon return and his hand would reach for mine and close it ever so softly. I would stroke and caress it, all the while praying for him and her. He called out my name again that night. I did not sleep at all… He woke up knowing it was me beside him that morning and wanted me then and there and after. I cradled him in my arms and calmed him down. He said he knew it was not yet time, so resorted to kissing and holding me. “幸せ” (shiawase), I told him, and he could not hold back his smiles and kisses. Later, he pulled away from my hand during our walk to work; but, in the final moments before we arrived at the entrance, he reached for it and held it tightly. He looked at our reflections and it hit me then, so I swallowed my words and instead wished him well at work. Deep down, I had hoped that his inner self would be brave and surface to acknowledge my small voice, but he chose to kill him and turn a deaf ear to my weeping.

He confessed he would wake up to thoughts of me. When he opened his eyes next to mine, he would become filled with desire for my sweetness and could not refrain from showering me with kisses and smiles. I reminded him of her and made him remember, but also forget about her and her. When I held her mug, I felt no longer the lingering of the once great, romantic, passionate love but compassion and gratitude. He stressed how much he disliked others’ touching it. The first time he took it gently away from me, yet all the time his eyes were on me and he chuckled like a big bear before pulling me into his warm embrace. The second time when I took it off the table, he hardly noticed and even smiled and thanked me. The third time he was away. Every fibre of my being hurt that day, but I washed it while prepping his after-work snack.

I made his bed, and could smell the transient scent of a diversion he dared not admit stemmed out of the physical and propelled by complacency, which made me hesitant but also made me stay; I touched his heartbeat and tasted his essence, which yearned for me; I saw his smiling eyes full of warmth and lightheartedness when they lay on me; I felt his darkness and vulnerability, which resonated to my own, no matter how different their origins; I sensed his hidden thoughts and wants, which made me cry and hurt for him; I heard his inner voice, which told me many secrets, including how everyone he ever knew somehow made a mess in his life and disappointed him one way or another, whereas I came and cleaned and brought along with me sweetness, innocence and goodness he had never known before; I saw the future he envisioned and which he showed to me often. To my bewilderment, I would find myself in the picture he painted with his words, yet he did not even realize that he had included me in them. He had always endless passion and dedication deep within him, but, unbeknownst to his conscious self, I rekindled a passion and inspired a dedication novel to him. He ended up smothering it – perhaps it was because it became too strange to him.

He was never aware, but, like a little boy, he would want me to cradle him and sing him sweet, soft songs. His head would search for my bosom to lay there. At times, his eyes would light up and he would open up his heart and mind to me, to which I only wish to reciprocate. However awkward and flimsy my attempt, it was genuine. I saw in him a great man and believed he would grow into him one day. Yet, in his determination to become a man, he chose consciously to deny me and relegated me as a mere release, a toy. He convinced himself that he took me for emotional comfort. Then, when this could not be reconciled, he told himself that for me he had only lust. His actions betrayed his words; his behavior belied his feelings. All of the contradictions pained me. He became confused. He knew not what I was to him – a little girl or a mature woman, a friend or a foe, an angel or a devil, a genuine or a fraud – only that he needed to go where my influences could no longer affect him. He fought against me, and my tears fell in defense, which drove him further away. My dignity and chastity, all besmeared… and despite proof he covered his eyes and refused to see. I am no great beauty, but I felt like Cassandra: Cursed, yet powerless to effect changes in the tragedy to come. My presence suffocated him, yet, at the same time, he pursued and desired me.

Nothing he did to me made sense, not even to himself. He could not comprehend nor grasp the reasons for his behaviors when it came to me, only that he could not deny his feelings; yet, that day, he chose to obliterate them.

I had not intended to love him and had never wished for a lifetime, only for a chance to let my real self be known to him and him to me. I would willingly leave once I saw him become a man and could no longer offer him anything else. So, my heart broke when I saw how hard he wrought to extirpate from his soul the germs of affections and yearning there detected. He wronged me, but I also pushed him away in my own clumsy way. I suppose I thought too highly of myself. I was too much of a haughty fool when I mattered naught to his conscious self. After all, who am I to be anyone’s savior but myself? Perhaps I never truly understood him. He never knew me either.

I healed myself through art, by singing endlessly, writing profusely, and dancing tirelessly. My tears no longer flow for him, for I finally realized that a silver lining could be found once I let go of his shadow~

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