I Think About it More Than I Forget (Short Story)

I lay down on the bed with the book once again in my hands. Staring but not reading. Page number 26. The bookmark's been on this page for 21 years now.

 Exactly 21 years.

And she wonders but never asks. Too ridden by my retreating into my shell so frequently. Only staying with me for the sake of little Jake.

Memories are merely instances that fade over the passage of time.

 That is the reason why I agreed. She thought she could heal me. I ought to have forgotten by now.

I try to, but cannot. The time I shared with Amelie was and still is too perfect to be forgotten.

I do not know whether she knows what's on page 26. She still thinks I need time to heal.

I met Amelie at Camp Smith-Bird (go ahead and laugh at the name, but just so you know, the people there were more queer than the name)  when I was 17. She was 16.

She was nothing special. Average looking, but a guy like me was mighty lucky to have someone as unlucky as her.

The only way I can describe her is that she was someone you would keep growing closer as time passed. Like parallel lines; it never ended. 

There was a new thing to discover, a new adventure everyday. Our love growing lovelier as we grew fonder each day.

It wasn't like how rabid young couples get married and grow wearier of each other's very presence by the day.

I still remember how my life diminished to ruins.

We snuck out of our house in the midnight, a bottle of my father's whiskey and our hearts overflowing with love for the world. Two teenagers full of hope and envisioning a bright and happy future for themselves.

We hiked up the hill to our spot, we could see the unhappy town, everyone in the grips of sleep. How we couldn't wait to run away and start a life of our own. 

The stars were twinkling brightly and the pale moon shined bright (for it was the time when pollutants in the air were quite less). Alcohol and adrenaline pulsating through our arteries instead of blood.

Amelie and I were lying on the grass naked, holding hands. We'd just made love and my heart was still racing. She turned to look at me with her eyes blazing with passion and a hint of sadness.

Her family was moving to America in less than a quarter of a year. No one mentioned it in the fear of ruining the Moment.

The Moment was perfect. It was out of a soapy romance film, a heart-breakingly beautiful book, a picture which makes you get jealous and go search for true love. It was what the kids of today would've called infinite. I could not let the Moment get away. I had to memorise it and imprint it into the back of my eyelids.

I had to stay in that time for ever. 

It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't seen the hint of sadness. I wouldn't have remembered. I couldn't let her go away from me. 

Love was for two and I was nothing without her.

She could NOT leave me. I will never let her.

She had to stay in the Moment forever. It was enchanting, exquisite and excitable.

I remember the time. 0026.

I killed her at 0026.

A silver thread of a tear travels from my eyes, down the curves of my face, into page number 26 of Wuthering Heights.

We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve

I would like to start by saying that my post is not the least bit related to the title (maybe it is a little). I haven't even thought much about the that sentence. I don't even think I agree with it. I just thought it seemed pretty.

There is a couple. The boyfriend becomes jealous (obviously) when his girlfriend goes about flirting and kissing other guys. 
Only he has the right to do that with her. He is the only one who can touch her. He has claimed her as his.

Just the way,  there is another boyfriend who indulges in domestic violence. He hits his girlfriend when she forgets to order a double cheese pizza instead of single. But just the same, he cannot bear to see any other man even grip his girlfriend's arm a little tighter than usual so it hurts her in the least.
Only he has the right to hit her. He is the only one who can touch her. 

He doesn't think twice when that blow bruises or the words sting but when he sees some other person hurt her in any way he will automatically become defensive and protect her.

Isn't this funny?

Of course, this whole post is only a metaphor of my father.

It is Only When You Are Lost That You Begin to Find Yourself

What makes a person the way he/she is? How would you describe yourself? What traits of yourself will you say make you the you you (so many you's)? What traits are a part of you but don't describe you?

Too many questions.

There may be a lot I don't know about a person but there's also a lot I don't know about myself. Both in mental and in physical way.
I mean, I have Ordinal Linguistic Personification and I only recently discovered! Who knew?

People go about trying to discover more about their significant other or friend and try to understand more about them but truth is most of them don't know the most basic things about themselves.
They could write 400 page novels on their best friends but not themselves.

I have discovered so much about myself, so much about what I really am. You don't need to go on a pilgrimage trip to the Himalayas to understand yourself.

What I discovered about myself is that I'm a person. (needs hyperlink)

Idolism and Idealism

I like to go around the classroom pestering people with questions about their religious, philosophical and spiritual (very different things, the three) beliefs. Most people are genially surprised. But not too surprised, I'm the sporadic, unexpected girl. People have stopped keeping any kind of expectations from me about tame, polite public behaviour. 

Anyhow, I get to hear very interesting answers (I lie, I hear them rarely). The other group who seem uninteresting to me are people who answer with, 'Gee, I dunno. I've never thought about it.' Ah, you expected me to answer by saying the ones who say they're religious, right? Haha, no. That's more interesting because that shows that person has put some thought, however little in my opinion. I try not to be judgemental. Love all.

I hear (like today) some say they believe in idols but not in religion; some say it the other way round. I hear many variations.

Also, just to add it so I don't forget because we're gonna need it in the conclusion, I usually hate all the hormonal teenage girls who run around crying about how much they love Justin Bieber or that new group One Direction. My mind fills with anguish for the young and astray pubescents. I have a lot of friend that fit like a snug sweater in the category. This is idealism.
 I used to be like that but I never exceeded the crazy limits. I still am some times when I think about Lana Del Rey, but meh. 
However, I would never go and make fun of them (that I NEVER do anyway because I was and am on the receiving end) or say they are stupid and dumb. I could in my mind, though.

So, where does the thin line end between idealism and idolism? 

Personally, I do not like any of the two. Idealism because (as mentioned before) there's too much I do not know about a person for me to follow everything they do. Too many secrets, too many lies. I do like to however, take all good qualities I see in a person and mould them into an ideal person of my choice. Let's name that person Daniel just for the heck of it. I'm feeling pretty silly and emotional today (It's the time of the month). 
Idolism is just a no-no for me. Don't the religions preach to not be materialistic? How can you regard some piece of metal, stone or wood as holy and attach all your feelings to it? Why don't you go nature outside and worship it instead of cutting it up into senseless shapes (reminds me of a new topic, CENSORSHIP!) and decorating your homes with it? Why are you loving (I've used so many brackets in this post. So I'm just posting another. Hehe) something lifeless?

Give love to someone who deserves it.