It hurts because it matters
Little me, full of childish zest and enthusiasm, bolted towards my mother’s room, my six-year-old legs speeding up with each step. I was prepared to recount the tale of how I beat Soph in yet another game of snakes and ladders. She weeped loud enough for everyone’s attention to be diverted to us and all, including Jake, pointed a finger at me. I was very upset. It wasn’t supposed to be my fault that I had the talents she lacked.
Mommy would understand. Mommy would declare Soph a snob and then take me out for ice cream. We’d even get a cherry on top and she’d paint a picture of our perfect world, offering snippets of insight and imagination.
I pushed open the door and found my Sister, a year older, being cradled in the arms of my mommy. She whispered soothing words close to her ear, implementing a fairytale land, each word flowing like the ocean. It’s fine. My mommy loves me too.
“Shhh, you’ll wake her up. Go and do your homework!” Mommy whisper-shouted after she realized my presence. I couldn’t possibly leave now! I had so much to tell her, so much to show her!
“B-but, mommy, today, during the art lesson, I made a picture frame for you! I can bring it…” I forsook the idea of babbling my whole day to her and instead settled on merely getting her invested as well. She’d be fond of receiving a present, right?
“I said shhh! Can’t you see I’m doing something?!” Mommy was angry. Mommy desired for me to leave.
I evacuated with numerous thoughts bombarding my brain, ready to burst open anytime soon.
It’s fine. I still have Teddy! Teddy and I were best friends! We did everything together. His embrace was warming and soft. Both of us began to impersonate zoo animals, sing fantastical songs, and giggled with glee. Teddy couldn’t talk but he loved me. And it was fine.
“He’s cute. You should go talk to him.” Soph mumbled between sips of her morning Starbucks drink, not once glancing at the boy she was claiming attractive, too infused in the latest celebrity news she was reading cautiously.
He WAS cute. I arrived at the conclusion that I loved him. I mean, of course, I did. He was cute. I ventured off towards his direction, careful to walk with a tad bit of confidence. I needed to show him that I was cool. But not so much that he supposes I’m not girly enough for him.
I halted before him and he instantly placed his cup on the table, and I became conscious that I had seized his regard. He winked at me before I even began my first sentence. He obviously loved me too, right?
“I love you.” I declared frankly, examining his expression to detect any signs of mutual affection. Nada. But I did sight something else. It’s what the adults call lust, I think. Whatever it doesn't matter.
“How old are you, love?”
“Sixteen.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“So?” He loved me. That was enough. His age wasn’t a significant factor. He seemed amused as if he was constraining a laugh.
“Give me your number. I’ll text you my address. Come over tonight.” He finally stated and I was aware it wasn’t a question. I typed in my number on his phone and he winked at me a second time before I vacated.
That night I lost my everything. I promise I didn’t sense anything, beforehand, that should’ve aroused suspicion. I expected to watch a movie alongside him. Perhaps, a rom-com, or those scary ones. He blocked my number the morning after and we never spoke again. Didn’t he love me?
It’s fine, though. I shall pinpoint another boy who’d love me. Even more than him.
Sitting on the shreds of my spirits, I scanned my living room. No sign of life. No sign of any human form here to comfort me, even when I texted each of them that I was suffering. I shouted above the rattles of the world, announcing the fact that I wasn’t satisfied a single bit. Yet, no one came to my funeral, no one to wish heaven upon me. Mommy had to deal with my sister’s financial issues, Soph was dead, either that or she didn’t want to have to deal with my problems, my Husband left weeks ago without apprising me of where to, he was off.
Who was I supposed to go to now? Why was love so peculiar as a verb? Even if you are granted it for a mere second, it’s rendered extinct the next, as if the devil decided you had too much felicity.
Maybe I should’ve pushed my Mother off from my arms on the initial day. I should’ve told her that I didn’t require anyone’s concern. I should’ve voyaged off to start off my whole life by myself. I should’ve never gotten a glimpse of love, for then I wouldn’t have spent my entire life searching for it desperately, looking into the far and beyond locating everything, but love.
