Grace- Faith, loyalty, happiness, beauty, junky but smiley and 'clean', these are what it describes, at least that’s what I think. I have been clean for four months. Not clean from drugs or bed-mates, but addiction- My ultimate default. Addiction not from embroideries, mobile, or junk food; it's desire. It is moral but depressive; enjoyable but degradable. I always had this urge, this unawful and precautionary wanting. Imagination is what I call it. Emotions that cannot be expressed but if suppressed they come out bursting with desires. It tastes just like cherry, one bite and finished. But sometimes it's watery, juicy, just like Watermelon. Each bite with initiative, and cautious from the mind. The tongue that slips right first in, then the bite on the squashy, uncherished but flickering choices. The fluid, so red but not fake; some linings that stay are white and brown. They drip down from my jaw, flowing down to my chest nudging my wasted desires. Ha, still addicted.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three... Not the counting of my exes, the library books. I work in a book store. My aunt is the honour. I only take the part-times for some handful and tacky money; gently edible to free me through my reflexes like wanting to visit Kiyoto on weekends. I live here in Osaka. Quiet, noisy, healthy, smelly, ramen, squashes are all about the city; rather, me.
Today the store is quite empty, just some customers basking away from the scorching heat of the Sun. A perfect day, and a perfect time to create a mood for my aunt to needle me with words sharper than any spine.
"Kimoto, you are so young. It's your time of flourishing. Make some bonds, find a macho, and show me the smaller ones."
"Aunt, this is my hobby, books. They are my life. And anyway, I would rather marry Tinker Bell than marrying a macho. It's awful."
"Here we go with the same thing again. When will you ever change?"
And something I forgot to mention, nosy.
It's not my fault, not even her's or any of those. It's been one year since I am floating free without a support. I needed to figure out those lingering feelings that made me unsure about any of my past relationships. Thousands, no millions of drumsticks have passed through my life. Orange, red, green, pink, all varieties tried out. But none of them made me peel off my skin in pleasure or having a high-pitched voice that barely reaches my ears. They never had any fault. Movies, theaters, amusement parks, Sakura Park, Lake Point view, say a place that is not a part of my disloyal and dismantle heartbreaks. They were not even heartbreaks, just a tint of sound of clacking glasses like how we enjoy at the parties. Every time they tried to push me in, I could not fell apart but had the urge of moving to a separate world made of maidens and flowers. It felt like thorny bushes aligned on my body, so hard, so tight with every inch it choked my breath and finally released in despair, with leftover unraveled pain, without gone, but rotten and swollen. Maybe someday it can change.
'Bloom into You', all written over the pink-white flowering book cover with a black and white cat leaning into their hearts. Sorry, got poetic for a second. It's two girls bending in literally falling into each other's laps. ‘So brutal’, that’s not what came to my mind.
"What's its price?"
I look up. I predict.
Who else can be there? A white-painted horse with lustrous and tangly hair curved right in front of his head, and teeth so bright, so white that looks almost like diamonds brought fake from the market.
I need to do this, at least to show my dignity. I am just ready to take a step, to make him mine, breaking the routine of four months of undesirable practice and boredom.
But reality sucks, its not a white royal horse but a stray cat. This pull almost snatched my heart.
Messy- a single word to explain what she is. Hair so black, but curls so brown. Strips of hair like strings falling down across her eyes. Jaw so big, lining perfectly crafted down from her ears to her cheeks. Nose as sharp with a tip that stands like a royal king. Eyes so big, all a shape of a fig, round but chili that gives off the vibes, an aura, a feeling, a desire that makes me want to stare at her for infinite.
"978 Yen"($9.06), reduced to my faulty desires.
My eyes can't stop flickering, moving away from the center of attention and finding an object to settle itself. I give her the book, wrapped in extra starry and tinsel sparks, maybe of her type.
I peeked at her, with my nose down towards her chest. So tall, stud, and reared. Everything stands out in her, even her flaws, but in a beautiful way. Maybe, she is a stray cat, but utterly adaptable by any royal family. Collar bone, so deep and high that can be sensed without me touching them; almost making my ribs tighten and intestine pack in harder inside. Lips so big, but small enough to leap right on a cheek. Soft as melted hazelnut chocolate, all caramelized, smooth, and wet. It brings you to the verge of falling down in its trap.
I cannot stop starring, with my heart which starts racing, so fast, so wild, that makes me take my mouth to breathe.
“Can I take the book?"
Shit!
Realizing, I rustle and jostle my hand on the table to wash away these wasted feelings, forgetting about the book which is right on my left hand.
She laughs, just like when you see a flash of your future already planned and decored with the fulfillment of your wantings. Then, she reverts her eyes for a second then comes back on wanting more, my silliness.
I pass her the book, all red from my face to the tip of my fingers. She takes it and says," Will come back the next week."
For a split of second, I cannot imagine anything else other than her tangy smile, almost like a grinning. So cold but pure, like white paint mixed with colors of desires. Then I realize her words- 'Will come back next week.'
That's it, I am down on my seat putting my hands on my mouth almost chewing my nails with teeth, hard enough to make them rip. Not known whether to laugh or to cry. So confused, so hesitated and the continuous flash of her being, makes me feel so fated. My feelings are knocking right on the edges, making it harder to determine my real state. Round and round it goes, my naked emotions.
Finally, my mind disowns and says, "Don't want it."
But my heart replies, “This is it.”
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