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  Apr 2015 black--tinkerbell
Amanda
One of the bitter-as-burnt-toast kind of things in the world is when a writer's (1) book remains empty for a time where even their clock ceased
ticking."

{She used to write in the way flowers needed a cold snap before they could bloom.}
Footnote (1) The kind of writer that wrote to give her lungs a break.
Hello you, you & you! I have missed writing on friday nights.
I hope you are all well.
x
She was a writer. He was a musician. She wrote the words of a broken heart. He sang the symphony of his melancholy. She let her ink spill every time she was about to cry. He kept the rhythm upbeat just to hide what he was feeling inside. She used her pen and paper just to prevent her from getting that blade from the cabinet, knowing what she would do to herself. He used his guitar and piano to shut away the noise of the world that was driving him insane, with every hymn drowning him in more sorrow. Words are her company, just to get over a boy who never deserves her love and her heart. Music is his best friend when at times he wants to mourn over the loss of the only girl he has ever loved.
Fate has played a magical trick when one day, his world of beautiful sounds and her planet of dazzling metaphors collided. The moment she gazed upon his hazel irises and when he noticed her shining smile, they both knew that this would be the start of something beautiful, as if a miracle had occurred and as if they had come out from the dark to be together in the light. They have fallen in love so swiftly, they both never knew it until they were on the ground catching each other’s arms, never letting go of each other’s hands.
For the first time, she wrote poems about love that she wish would never die, while he sung about the feeling that made his world go around. She wrote beautiful prose about the way she feels about the guy with the guitar. He would compose beautiful music about the girl who wiped away his teardrops. She got addicted to his voice as if it was a song that she played over and over again and she could never get enough. He got intoxicated with her words and he read them over and over again as if it is the book that he loved the most. She believed that he was the gift of the star for her. He knew that she is the star itself as she gives light to his dark world; he could never ask for more.
But then the words were slowly not as stunning,  and his song slowly got out of tune. Their smiles turned to frowns, their laughter turned to tears, their once shining world lost its glow and now it is nothing but a dead star. They never knew what went wrong except that she has lost the rhymes of her poems and he has lost the rhythm of his beats. They have lost the love they both swore not to let go of. And so she went back to writing words about the boy who deserved her love and he went back to singing about a girl he loved the most but couldn't take.
You could have all money in the world, but if you don't know what love is - I don't just mean in the romantic sense, but also the love of friends and family and love for culture and anything else - you are emptier than any shell.
However, blindly believing in love is not an option either. 
No matter how strong "love" is, no money causes problems in today's world, and problems lead to fights and many fights usually ruin even the most beautiful love.
"Remember when they kept saying I was too blind? I think I was just too in love, too naïve and pure." She quietly mutters, her eyes gazing upon the Vanilla Latte, as they sat in their usual sport in the café. Jessica sighs as she remembers those days clearly.

"You still think about it?" He says, glancing at her. She's grown up so much, beauty is still shines on her face, but the innocent vibe changed into a mature one.

"Of course I do… It feels like yesterday" She smiles at the thoughts, her tinkering smile makes his heat beat all over again. «What happened to us?» He asks himself, suddenly forgetting the answer. "I was blind not to see, weak to not accept".

“I would never forget how cute you looked”.

“Kris ―Now isn't the time for you to tell me that”.

“I know I'm wrong, but that’s the truth. If only I could travel back to the past, like in a time machine― change it and make things right for us”.

“But you can’t do that. Face reality Kris, I've grown up, you said you've moved on, there's no point getting in a time machine now” She says as tears threating to fall from her eyes. Shaking his head he feels like his world is slowly breaking. How he missed her a lot during these seven years, her lavender shampoo which lingers, the caramel hair she had is now dark brown giving her a more elegant charm and that smile which  made his heat beat faster everytime, but she was changed “ You let go even when I asked you not to, saying goodbye to everything we had.” She sobs. She's right. He’s the only one to blame for everything. It was all his fault he left her for the dream he could never reach, all his fault he let her fall into a arrange marriage into someone she hated and most of all, he was the one to blame for the pain she's still suffering.  

“Sica―”

“Forget it, I have to go, someone's waiting for me and I don’t want to keep them waiting " Pushing her seat she quickly walked away.

«Why did this happen to us?» Remembering all the good moments they had, wanting to say those words that never come out before. He went to chase after her, the long forgotten Vanilla Latte. As he saw her, about to reach her, eveything slipped infront of him.

Getting into the car,  Jessica left just like that, just as fast as his heart broke. He last saw her leave with some stranger, who she was forced to be with, because of him. Everything was because of him.

— The End —