Perfectly small hand held in mine. Walking into dark alleys together, holding onto each other. My romance in dissonance of long lost memories.
She was fond of me as long as I could remember. Her smiling face conquered everyone’s hearts, making them sympathetic with her, opening to her, trusting her.. So oblivious they were… Are. Judging me for saying otherwise, to be one who saw that she is not at all that nice and sweet. Nobody listened, nobody cared.
Each day she was doing chores, helping others, proving me wrong, yet I stood steady and unshaken from my position taken. I hated her with my gut. From down below inside of me. I didn’t know why. Never asked myself to be honest.
My singing in cold park, empty of people, sunset shining red, my words coming out of my darkest corners I had. Songs of pain, love and despair, they miraculously spoke to her in some way.
She was there every day, to see me, listen to my songs, listen to my music. She enjoyed, she was there until very end every time, when it was dark outside and cicadas were heard. She never said a word. She just was there.
Art by Michiel van den Heuvel on ArtStation