Spring time has always been my favorite season. Summer was too short, fall reminded me of death, and by winter my back ached from all the sadness that accumulated throughout the year. Spring was new, fresh. My year always seemed to reset in April. I guess that’s why the pain hit so hard.
“Tristan I–I can’t do this anymore” Indigo let the words drop from his tongue unwillingly. He stared into my eyes, looking for anything resembling life. “Did you hear me? I said I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to do this.” Those words were like daggers to my heart. You don’t want to huh? Four months later and you just decide you don’t want to? I thought. My head was spinning, venomous words fought at the tip of my tongue, my hands quivered, my eyes begged to open the flood gates, but I just stood. Quietly, and then loudly. “Man I gotta go,” Indigo mumbled, his words covered in impatience.
I wanted to say Forget you! Forget you, idiot! But, “Ok. I’ll go” were the words I decided on. My legs begin to move but my heart stays, shattered in a pool of its own blood. My legs rapidly increased into a jog, then a run. Before I knew it I was on the corner of a broad market with the street lamps washing over me. Buses and cars zoomed past. Mothers held the hands of rambling kids asking questions about the world. Fathers waved down buses and taxi cabs.
The world continued to spin, life continued to go on, I continued to live. Only without a heart.
I continued my walk home. A walk that seemed to be routine. I had always met up with Indigo at the frozen yogurt spot on Tuesdays. Tuesdays were our day. Indigo had no obligations to attend to on Tuesdays. No track practices, no errands to run, no girlfriend to adore. Not on Tuesdays at least.
This time the walked didn’t seem so routine. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom. The radiant hues of pink bounced off them, reflecting on the puddle stain streets. The sun had fully set. My footsteps slowed, coming to stop. I should’ve have known better. How stupid can I be? Insults began to clutter my head. I had once again searched for solace where I knew it couldn’t be found.
Wasn’t I the one to blame? Wasn’t I the one with blood stained hands? I knew exactly what I was getting into four months ago when he said ‘hey’ to me in English class. I ignored all the warnings, missed all the exit signs, and continued to go when the lights were clearly lit red. All the blame and heartache belonged to me. Once again I continued my walk. I guess this was the new routine I had to get accustomed to now.
