My hands were trembling along with those quivering lips, freezing my heart to impede the functioning of my body. My heart was racing against my chest, throat dried by the intensity his words hold which I am unable to eradicate from my mind.
"Send me when you will write"
His words are echoing in my mind. Seth said if I ever write a story about him, I should send it to him. Even if I know it was not in my grasp because there's so much to write, to explain my emotions.
An empty smile came to my lips with countless questions.
Will he read if I write?
What would he think after knowing what I have buried in my heart?
"He wouldn't care, Flora. Don't waste your time." I breathed out, leaning my head back, rubbing my dark brown eyes, leaning my head back. This was the first time when I grabbed my pen and nothing struck it. It was empty.
What should I write?
Why would I write in the first place?
Being a documentary writer, converting people's life into a collection of words was my job. A petty job but it was my passion so I bore with it.
Pushing my black hairs dyed hazel behind, emitting a long sigh.
"Why do you do this to me unknowingly?" I whined, pulling my hair in frustration, his thoughts alone leave me on the verge of breaking. The more his thoughts afflict my mind, the more I lose my ability to think.
Why is it so hard? I just had to write about my life so Seth could read and know what's in my heart.
But I know he would never do it!
On second thought, can I even express my feelings in those sheets which could drift along the shore of nothingness in a matter of a heartbeat? Perishing before it's birth only to hurt me more. Can I truly explain my emotions?
Lam Ta (88
"Goddammit!" Slamming my hands on the table, I shut my laptop, throwing the pen and paper away and got up furiously, muttering curses under my breath. Falling onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in nothingness, closing my eyes and what I could've written finally entered my mind.
"Oh great, now you are entering my mind, huh?" Scorning at my silly delusional thoughts, I grabbed my phone. Staring at his text for a long time.
"You still haven't written a book about me?"
"Who are you to me that I write anything about you? You are nothing, you are nowhere yet-... present everywhere." My eyes narrowed, wanting to tell him a millions of things I have felt for none but him throughout my childhood but my voice tightened around my throat. My lips parted to speak but an empty smile adorned my features. "You would never understand." I breathed out with a shaky whisper as a tear pricked in my eyes.
I never cry.
But he made me.
I don't love.
But he made me.
But, finally after taking a good two hours of pertinacity, I got up again. Inhaling sharply, grabbing my laptop, playing a song in the background for some motivation.
"Okay, let's do this."
He wouldn't care. He wouldn't care. He wouldn't care.
These words repeated in my mind but hampering them by my pure determination, I gulped hard, rubbing my freezing and convulsing hands together, ignoring the pounding heartbeats, I finally began to write down the story of my life, putting my life, The life story of Flora Baynes into words,
Dear Seth,
๐๐ค๐ค๐ ๐ฌ๐๐๐ง๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ก๐๐๐ฉ ๐ข๐.
๐๐ฎ ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ฃ๐๐จ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฅ๐ง๐ค๐๐๐๐ก๐ฎ ๐๐ง๐๐ซ๐ค๐ก๐ค๐ช๐จ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐๐ช๐ฉ ๐ก๐ค๐ค๐ ; ๐๐ฉ ๐๐๐ซ๐๐จ๐ฉ๐๐ฉ๐๐ ๐ข๐. ๐ ๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐๐ง ๐๐๐ ๐ฌ๐ค๐ง๐๐จ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐๐ญ๐ฅ๐ก๐๐๐ฃ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ฃ๐๐จ ๐๐ช๐ฉ ๐๐๐๐๐ช๐จ๐ ๐ค๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช๐ง ๐ค๐ฃ๐ ๐รผ๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ญ๐ฉ. ๐๐๐ง๐ ๐ ๐๐ข ๐๐ค๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ฌ๐๐๐ฉ ๐ ๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐๐ง ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ช๐๐๐ฉ ๐ ๐ฌ๐ค๐ช๐ก๐.
๐ ๐๐ข ๐ฅ๐ค๐ช๐ง๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐๐๐๐ง๐ฉ๐จ ๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐ค ๐ข๐ฎ ๐ฌ๐ค๐ง๐๐จ.
