Fragile Hearts

I always try to keep my eyes shut when I wake up. I Try to replay the dreams I’ve had that night, Colourful landscapes, monotone interactions and warped nightmares alike.
Except for this morning. Today I didn’t keep my eyes closed to replay dreams. Instead I keep them shut and try to relive last night. Our walk back in the rain, the nervous tremble as she entered my apartment, the constant fight to not just take her in my arms and kiss every inch of her, and the feeling as we finally found each other in the dark.
I try to picture her hair in the moonlight, her smile, her face lit with the patterns of the rain on the window, and her breath as she leaned in to kiss me. That slight smell of the best coffee in the world melted together with the most perfect kiss. Maybe, just maybe, I am afraid to open my eyes to the daylight, afraid it was merely a dream, a trick of fantasy, and She was never even here.
I decide with a deep breath to open one eye slightly, and there she is, sleeping softly. I try and hold my laughter in, how could she ever have been a dream. My subconscience could never create something like her, it only creates monsters, faul creatures of the night. She looks more like a guardian angel.
And she sure is one kind of beautiful, not like the French girls in my movies, their beauty is shallow, it’s shadows of what they could be. This one is real, she is warm, to the very core. Like a cherry covered in chocolate; irresistible.
I sit and watch her sleep, an ex girlfriend once told me my gaze could be too intense, I told her to take a walk. I feel like playing music.
I fetch my guitar from the corner and place myself on the floor by the bathroom door. I am only covered in a small white sheet, but I couldn’t care less. As long as you have a guitar in your hand, you’re charming, that’s just the way of life, doesn’t matter if you’re half naked or can’t sing.
I play her my favourite song, my absolute favourite song, the song I only sing when I am totally alone. I figure it’s about time I share my solitude with someone again, eventhough that someone is sleeping.
I gradually lose myself in the world of strings and melodies, all I see is splendid colours, daring memories, forgotten feelings. Her groggy voice breaks my pace, and it takes me a moment to realise she’s singing along in a raspy, sleep filled voice. Her voice makes me smile, a real smile, a smile I had forgotten was inside me.
“I really like your smile” she says. I stop the music and look up, “How fortunate ma cheri, because it is all for you” she smiles nervously. “If you want it.” I add quickly. I tuck the sheet closer around me and rise to kiss her on the forehead. “Are you hungry princess? Because you might not remember just how excellent my coffee is and you definitely have no idea how delicious my pancakes are.” she smiles a little, a very shy smile, and I wonder if my enthusiasm might have been too much. I bow slightly and do a little dance on the way to the kitchen, her chuckle echoes in the hall way.
My being in the kitchen served several purposes; one, I was damn hungry, second; she would have a chance to get dressed without me gazing at her, and as much as I liked her, I’ve learned the hard way that pushing their bounds will get your head cut off.
“eggs, eggs, coffeeeeee, and some pancakes, what an awfully sweet mess” yes, I am singing a song about food. This sense of safety, of happiness, totally overwhelms me, who ever thought you’d meet love in a secondhand bookshop? I need a way to channel all these feelings out. Pouring them over her would definitely freak her out.
Now, where the hell did I put the tray?
There, almost perfect breakfast. But I need a flower, maybe one made out of paper will do for now.
The sun shines through my windows, and the art of balancing with a tray of coffee, eggs, bacon and pancakes, reminded me why I never applied for that job in the circus. Simply isn’t my “thing”.
“Princess, are you properly dressed” I say in my best impersonation of a royal servant, but I receive no reply. Maybe she fell a sleep again. One elbow on the handle, and both hands on the tray I manage to swing the door open, I strike a pose and pronounce: “Here is your break… fast..”. All I get to look at is an empty bed.
I think this is what it feels like to die. I don’t really know her, and I have no claim on her, none whatsoever, but sometimes you catch a glimpse of your future in the eyes of someone else, you see the world as it should be, and not how it is. I thought I did. I thought I saw that in her. Could I really be this terribly wrong?
Then, the swift ring of my doorbell breaks the silence, and a very familiar face greets me in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, you probably think I am the hugest bitch in the world. But if you’ll let me explain maybe I can change your mind.” She pauses, I cross my arms and lean against the doorway while I smile to myself.
“I’m scared because when a guy is a dickhead and wants you to leave the next morning you know where you stand. But you want me to stay, it felt like you wanted me to stay forever, and that’s scary because you care. Also you don’t hide how you feel and most people would, it’s a Romeo and Juliet love you’re looking for. You only ever see that in movies, not in real life, but I guess what I’m trying to say is..” She takes a breath and looks me right in the eyes. “I want to stay, as much as it scares me, and that I think you’re amazing and perfect, and kind of sexy and.. well in short I think I want to be you’re Juliet.” I smile at her adorable pink cheeks and her strong gaze. Then I push the door open and let her in. she stands in front of me.
“I’m sorry, please don’t be mad.” All I can do is smile at her.
“Not angry Avelyn, just suprised.” She looks at me critically. “Come on sugar, you’re letting the cold in. And the bed is still warm and so is you’re breakfast and it is much too cold and early to be moving around outside.” I look at her dressed in a long woolen jacket. “And so fully dressed.” She kisses me once, chastely, teasingly, and swaggers back to my bedroom, moving in the way she knows gets my attention.

Fragile Hearts

A boy called Star

Melbourne, Australia

  • Artist
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  • Artwork Comments 6

Artist's Description

another addition to the collaborative written by me and kristine, she wrote most of this one. enjoy

Artwork Comments

  • Sybille Sterk
  • A boy called Star
  • evitaoz
  • A boy called Star
  • markgb
  • A boy called Star
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