nyctophilicbish

[nyctophilicbish]

To the person who told me I looked like a sunset,

Do I? Is that true, my dear? In the plethora of a billion sunsets that I laid my eyes upon, not one of them captured this very picky heart of mine. Sunsets never really send dancing goosebumps in my arms, but to be true, sunrises do. I’ve always loved the sweet and captivating hope of having to see the light once more. I love how the sun goes back up in the sky like the queen of the heavens, bringing the shadows of the night, the moon and the stars to bow at her magnificent wake. Doesn’t it sound like such a magic, Louis?  I may sound silly to you but indeed, sunrises really make me feel that magic of a feeling.

Anyways, how’s the world out there, at your part of town? I hope your chickens are fat and fine by now. My marigolds withered up and died last week. I guess they didn’t like mellow music as much as you do, which is kind of weird because I really fancy the songs you told me to listen to. Maybe not everyone in this town does, but I do. I really do. I had “The Simple Things” by Michael Carreon playing on my speakers all day nearby the flowers and the next thing I knew, the marigolds weren’t that gold anymore.  

But really, I don’t blame their demise on your taste of music, I guess I just didn’t water them that much or that I just totally forgot about them when I went to your basketball match last Thursday.

You must be bored at reading this letter by now. I’m sorry but I’m just not good at doing these kinds of things. I’m not much of a writer myself, Louis. Speaking of which, you are. You really are a great writer, Louis. I’ve read all your compositions in English class and I felt every single magic you hid in every word in all those stories of yours. Can you teach me your skills sometime, mister?

A sunset? Really, Louis?

You really had me thinking if it was my yellow dress or if it was just me. I just couldn’t quite believe that those words would come from lips of your own kind. Or did you just call me that because I had something in my face that time and you just didn’t want me to know so you and your friends can laugh about it? Or was it because I smelled of wildflower and you hated wildflowers so you called me that as a reverse psychology to make me go away? I’d be so embarrassed if those were your real reasons.  But nevertheless, I really didn’t have a care in the world but you at that moment.

I had all my eyes on you. And oh, was it one of the greatest over-the-counter decisions this 17-year old girl has ever done? Yes. Yes, it was.  I couldn’t forget how your eyes caught a glimpse of the warm afternoon August sun and glowed like amber. Who gave you eyes like that? Who said you could keep them? They looked like orbs of crystallized honey and I couldn’t help but look away to avoid drowning from your enchanting stare. And how could I ever forget the detail that makes you stand out from every other guy in this paper town, the unique mole near your right eye that only adds to the never-ending list of things I love about you. Oh, how can I get enough of your beauty, pretty boy?

Have I ever told you that the moon and I talk about you almost every passing night?  And that even the farthest of stars would come join our little tea party just to hear of my tales about you. Have I ever told you that your gravitational pull on me is a little too strong? Have I ever told you that I’m furious at you for making me feel this way? Have I ever told you you’re a firework in my lonely town? Have I ever told you the star in your eyes shine brighter than Polaris? Have I ever told you that you seem to put a spell on me everytime you flash that ever-magical smile of yours at me? Have I ever told you our hometown skeptics called it witchcraft? Have I ever told you you’ve got beauty even Saturn and Venus can’t compare? I bet I didn’t, Louis.

“What must it be like to grow up that beautiful with your hair falling into place like dominos? My mind turn your life into folklore. I can’t dare to dream of you anymore.”

You’re so beautiful, Louis. You’re a prize I’d cheat to win. You’re the purple-pink sunset I’ve been long waiting for in my life. You’re the portrait I’ll use all my best colors on. You’re the greatest poetry I wish I could write. You’re the only thing I’d wish to look at if I’ll go blind. You’re the only thing I’d want to dream about if ever I’ll be put to an everlasting sleep. You’re the only fairytale I’d believe if ever the Fairy Godmother asks me to choose one. You’re the only bottle of poison I’d purposely pick knowing that I’d be lying breathless on the floor moments after. You’re the only speck of glitter I’d want in my face even if it irritates me to the bones. You’re the only rose I’d pluck from a garden of sunflowers knowing I’d be in pain afterwards.

You’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Even just the thought of you-a pigment of you. You.

You see, I also came to love sunrises because of you. Because of that picture of us I have next to my bed together will all my all-time favorite books-that picture we took when we danced together at a friend’s party back then, remember? Ever since, it never failed to paint a hopeful smile in my face everyday when I slowly blink my eyes open to the sound of birds and chickens just outside my bedroom window. I’ve always woken up to that magic of a sight, to that magic of a feeling. I’ve always woken up to you, dear.

You might despise me after you read all these. You might stop exchanging messages with me. You might stop suggesting the most beautiful songs my eardrums has called blessings for a long time now. You might stop giving me the smile of my century. You might not tell me when your next basketball match will be anymore. You might stop being in the same picture with me. You might stop reminding me to water my plants everyday. You might stop going out and drinking milkshake at the park with me on Saturday nights. You might not want to be in the same midnight train with me anymore. You might not walk me home afterwards. You might leave me.   But I want you to know, you can.

You can if doing all those things is worth throwing away all the memories we had on willow street, if doing all those things is worth breaking the golden string we both kept after our ride home from that midnight train, if doing all those things is worth deleting all the late night conversations we both enjoyed, if doing all those things is worth forgetting all the secrets and inside jokes we both promised to keep only as ours, if doing all those things is worth turning all our lessons into weapons to point at my deepest hurt, if doing all those things is worth leaving me crestfallen at the wooden floors of my gold rush dreams of us. You can, if doing all those things will bring out the best in you. You can, if doing all those things will make you any happier, Louis.

I won’t-I can’t stop you from doing what you want, from what you need to do. You are my person but unfortunately, I’m not yours. I am not but you are. You are your person, at the moment. You are yours’ before you are anyone else’s. So take care of yourself, love yourself, dear. Whether you, the sun or the moon may like it or not but I will never forgive myself if you ever find yourself in hurt and pain. Live the rest of your days in joy but never be afraid to also let sadness wash over you sometimes, my beloved. Always deem that you are more beautiful than my marigolds that dried up, you are more beautiful than Saturn and Venus combined, better off, you are much beautiful than all the galaxies in this bewitching yet treacherous universe we are in. You are that beautiful in my eyes.  But calling you beautiful would be the greatest understatement of this century, Louis. You are ethereal.

By the time you receive and read this, know that I’ll be in that same yellow dress you saw me wearing that afternoon. I’ll just be here in my hospital bed listening to Elton John’s “Can you feel the love tonight?” with a cup of cookies and cream milkshake from that park we loved to hang out at. My cancer cells acted up again. I don’t get it why these cancer cells want to get rid of me so fast. They always have me doubting if I could still wake up to another sunrise with you. I don’t know if I’d still make it out through today, through this week, through this month, through this year. The doctor once told me I’d meet the angels pretty soon. Doesn’t that sound so magical, Louis? Well, it may sound sad to think that I’m going be leaving you-leaving pretty much everything in this world too really soon but alas, it is life, my dear. It is what it is.

But there will always be light at the end of every tunnel, there will always be happiness at the end of every story, right Louis? Mine may be nearing to an end and yours may still be going off to a start, promise me to remember these lines from this Taylor Swift song I find so beautiful:

There’ll be happiness after me

But there was happiness because of me

Both of these things I believe

There is happiness

In our history

Across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

From the dress I wore at midnight

Leave it all behind

And there is happiness.”

Before everything else, I have one favor to ask of you.

Love yourself and be happy, my beloved. I’d die to see you happy.

Goodbye or not, you’re still the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever woken up to, Louis.

Marigolds and Sunsets, Millie