Do you remember how we met? It was the heaviest rain ever, but the both of us were feeling the same drought, inside. So we decided to play this game. A game we believed could grow an oasis for the both of us.
Yes, we pretended to fall in love with each other…
It was at an old library. I saw books, all written with the nonetheless ink of blood. Of course, not literally.
Dust on the corner of the unreachable shelf, and the shadow behind the darkest wooden chair. Those were us. Plain to hurtful, none of us could move from the sad position we’re set on.
What were we doing? What were you doing? What was I doing? Are these even the right questions for the situation? I can’t even tell. Can I?
Well, I don’t think so, and if by any chance I could read mind, I would say you’re on the same side with me. But, even with that logic, we managed to act well for the role, a lover.
I guess we really had at least something for each other, or we were just too crestfallen…
The petrichor filled the air, and while added by the smell of decaying books, it was a sedative. But it’s not poisonous, no, of course no compared to the risk we’re taking from getting into this game.
Next, to be concise, we passed the day, that rainy-phony day. And I must say it’s not bad, we’re having such a great fun. We talked about a lot of things and we listened to each other.
We were connected.
But there’s a problem. On the next day, we both felt lost. We didn’t feel the same anymore with each other. I bet you felt the same.
So, we decided to go back to the library. We tried to find something we thought we accidentally dropped there. But we found nothing.
By the coming of the night and another heavy rain, we gave up. No, we didn’t give up on each other,
We gave up on lying to ourselves and put an end to this silly game…
We didn’t just abruptly leave each other after we realized that ending. We chose to stay at the library first, enjoying the truth. Actually, we didn’t even feel wounded, maybe it’s because we know that love was never there for us. So, we searched for some books to finish the night. But rather than reading, I was writing my thought on a blank paper inside a random book. ,
love… is like the rain.
You can’t say it is raining,
if there’s only a drop of water falling from the sky…
Yes, you can’t say it is love,
if there’s only a day you feel so…
It should be countless…