Interlude.

What's your favourite colour?"
A question that has lived with me throughout my entire years.
With confidence I said "purple"
They always asked me why. I never really gave them the most appropriate answer. Mainly because when I was young, purple made me feel different. Girls were always expected to love a certain pink, to always follow that order. Purple made me feel superior.
Made me all sorts of different.
Always a good different.

Little did I know.

Purple stains*.

Tomorrow is a day closer to our day.
Everyday is a day closer to ours.

I sit on this wooden chair,
Listening to it creak as my body makes a frontward backward motion.
I stare aimlessly at the road ahead.
Wondering.
Always wondering.

"Annoyed with the World?" she puts her tiny soft hands on my shoulder.
Making me feel the heat radiating from her.
I continue to look forward. Already knowing where she's going at.

"The perks of being an Eccedentist",she whispers.
"The secret of this pain lies deep within but can only be seen by our kind".
I sigh, massaging my temples. Not really feeling the need to hear what more she has to say.
In attempt to run away, I pick my heavy battered body up and start to walk away.
She chuckles light hearted "Running again I guess?"
"How long will you deny these stains? How long will your body handle them? Don't run away. Talk to me"

Her words remind me of a certain everybody. Always telling me that they want to listen.
To comfort me.
But they don't understand, I'm not trying to get pity or supposed heartfelt advice.
I don't want that.

I continue to walk away from her, counting every step that takes me further from her view.

"I am in pain", I whisper to the winds.
"I've got bruises so deep that they have turned into scars. The kind that stains every part of me"
"I want to cry", I slouch my body.
"But what point is it to waste my tears on someone that has put me on hold? Should I really be doing this. Crying so loud for love that existed only for their benefit"
"I'm an instrument of pain", I laugh.
"He is my composer. With each stroke, with each beat. He creates harmonious symphonies that leave the crowd bewildered. He creates a wave of sensual vocals that lead me breathless and in pain"
"People love his work, they love to listen to the beats of my drained heart,  the soft strum of my throaty voice", I sigh.

My body is at halt. I can no longer continue to walk.
With that, I fall heavy on my knees.
Hands on the rough sand.
Head trying to bury itself deeper.
"Everyday is a day closer to ours", I cry.

My body shakes feverishly letting out the pain.
My throat cracks in attempt to let my voice be heard.
My heart shatters even more. My mind flustered and goes black.
My eyes are bloodshot, but no tears.
It's only been a few months but it feels like years.
Holding on to him. To this pain.
I try to get a grip onto the soil but my body fails.
I fall, now laying on the ground.
Whispering, crying to it.
Finally letting someone in.

"I told you, that only I understand you", she crouches and releases a small smile.

She squints her eyes and croaks her head.
"What's your favourite colour? "

I keep quiet. Not from embarrassment but from exhaustion of this cycle. I'm always caught at my worst.
Why must I always be caught.

"No answer", She sighs
"How do you expect to get over this if you don't talk? " she whispers harshly

I sigh, I shut my eyes in hopes for her to disappear.
I can't handle playing to her. For her own comfort that her life is somewhat better than mine.
This instrument, is worn out.

"I'm still here you know. And I'm not trying to save you. I could never do that. I'm not him",I hear
"I just can't watch you break down like this anymore. I don't want you to feel what I felt", she coughs.
"I'm not here for saving. If you refuse to talk of your pain at least let me in on your favourite colour ", she pleads.

"Purple", I murmur

"Just like the colour of your stains",she laughs.