Obsoletely Perfect
Obsolete: To grow old, become disused; indistinct or imperfect as compared with a corresponding part in related organisms.
First Day: 9:19 AM
There are approximately 525, 600 minutes in a year; a year of 365 days and I haven’t been counting each day. So every season whizzes by my head so fast that I loose count and just forget about counting all together. I haven’t been keeping track of every passing moment, or living each second like I’m going to die. So does that make me wrong? ‘Cause what I’ve been most certainly wondering, in my limpid life time, is have I done something horrible and that’s why I’ve ended up where I am now? Homeless, alone, and cold.
Cold to the point of exhaustion. I’m beginning to believe that I’m actually a reptile instead of a mammal. My blood is cold and has me feeling so warmth-deprived that I fall asleep in the iciness of the day. My memories take me back to warmer, windy days where there was somebody to love. I worry I won’t wake up once I sink away; then remember that it’d be alright if I didn’t, ‘cause then I’d live in that warm world forever. And things would be good, wouldn’t they?
I remember the feeling of being good, and I remember I liked the old days. Being with you was just about as special as being the brightest star in the sky. When you looked at me, and you smiled, it was as if everybody else was smiling at me, too. You didn’t need anybody else than me, right? We could have gone on like that for days on end, never worry about tomorrow, never thinking about the consequences, and never having to count the seconds... Oh it would have been something beautiful, and now it’s just a future in my head that I created from the past. But I know things aren’t really like that. For some reason we didn’t go on like that forever, and now I’m stuck somewhere between my yesterday and tomorrow in a place called Today. And even though I’m here today my mind is so far away.
When I daydream you’re the subject of it all. Sometimes some things are just too tight to hold, even though I was so sure my grasp was still strong enough. Yet I clung with fire it still didn’t amount to anything. In my dreams I cannot cry and I cannot sleep, but if I could cry and if I could sleep my tears would be glass and my dreams would be of you.
3:12 PM
I stared up into the sun; how foolish of me. It’s white light was filtering into my gaze and I quickly looked back down, as if to wash away away my black and white world. I concentrated on my steps in the snow, every few seconds glancing back to see the tracks that I’d left behind me. I’d left them as my mark on the world, and they were the proof that I existed. I know existing is a wonderful thing, like a birthday, celebrating the very you that was brought onto Earth. It’s your day. And if I’d never been born then I wouldn’t have met you, so I’m thankful for being alive.
The first day we met was a bustling, summer day. With a humid, hot air in a crowded farmers market. The smell of viscid cheese led me over to a booth where people gathered closely and attentively, tasting the various cheeses or handing over paper wads with coins. You were standing at the very back, staring off into another crowd like you’d rather be anywhere but here. A large bag hung from your white hand, and you didn’t notice when that child let go of his balloon behind you. I didn’t really notice it either, because you drew my attention and I felt like you and I were the only ones trapped in that moment. I was so afraid of waking up from that dream, so afraid that I would move and you would disappear. And now that I’m here, so far away, this image is fading from my memory. The more I think about it the more it runs away from me, like it doesn’t belong here.
I went over to you, by your side. You looked into my eyes, and found me, and you noticed me. Then we were inseparable, like static cling. Going to the park in the sun, or staying inside, trapped in the living room to stare out the frosted window. That’s where the memories begin for me, on that fateful day. Yes, it must have been fate working to pull the strings. And the feelings I had that day...surely they must have been beautiful.
Second Day: 12:01 PM
This morning I woke up with the winter wind whistling right through me, as if I were merely a shadow. That was the start of the day; what followed after can only be described as boring and non-eventful. After being awoken from my slumber it was off through the city streets to find the park out past the buildings. I roamed the snow covered mulch, missing the chattering children who filled this place in warmer weather. My thoughts, or course, were of you as I wandered.
Once upon a time she loved me.
In a house not too far away, there lived a young woman who smelled like lemon and pomegranate, and who always had a book and distant smile wherever she went. She loved to explore the city and take journeys through the parks; and when it rained she would sit at the old piano, picking out odd tunes by ear, because she didn’t know how to play it.
She lived alone in a glass house, with many windows and sky lights, and glass coffee tables. There was always light in her house and there was always music. Sometimes she stood up to dance about the room, so unprofessional, but so natural in her movements. In her glass house she was a busy body, a multi-tasker. She would sing to the lyrics that rang through the house, while at the same time make a meal or read. Other moments she would stand so still for such a long time that minutes to hours would pass by. But she rarely spoke and rarely saw others. This woman loved to keep herself, but was amazingly polite. She called her mother often and her relatives when she found the time, as well as on special occasions. She had a beautiful memory, but an awful obliviousness to her surroundings. From memorizing phone numbers to loosing books, she was a very contradicting character. This woman was strange and beautiful. And once upon a time she loved me.
6:54 PM
At certain points in our lives we do things without a certain reason as to why, and after our action is through we questions ourselves. Why did we just do that? Was there some bigger purpose? Right now I’m doing just that, but I’m finding it hard to find a reason to stop.
Clambering up a sheering, icy surface I find myself on the side of a hill, clawing my way to the top. My panting is loud in contrast to my silent steps against the snow. Padding up, the wind takes a spin right through my coat. So much for this coat that I’m stuck with for life. It doesn’t do me much good. The snow feels like flour, like a whiter powder beneath my feet, almost cushioning my steps. I press myself harder, faster, because I feel like everything is slipping away. Time is rushing by... What is time anyway? Is it an object that can be held or thrown away, or something that can be calculated? Right now, time is very important, so I pursue the top of the hill with a faster pace.
I make it in time to see the sunset, to see the bright, watery waves wash over the horizon. I stop at the top on a flat patch of ground, like my own special seat. There is nobody around, so it is only me and the sun at this point. The light sprinkles the snow with a shimmering effect, and I take in as much as my eyes will allow me. My breath quiets slowly and in those last minutes of stillness I find myself thinking, as I watch, that I’m sinking with the sun. But at the same time, I know that the sun will be here tomorrow, and that I cannot say the same for myself.
It is easy for the sun to shine, easy for it to be its brightest, because it does not have to think about anything. It just does. I, on the other hand, have found out that it’s not easy to be happy all of the time. It takes effort, and it takes help that is hard to find. But unlike the sun, who never has to pretend anything; it's easy to forge happiness. You just have to pretend you don’t know your own heart.
As the sun disappears and a shiver runs down my spine, I wonder why I went so far for so long just to watch something leave.
Day Three: 11:32 AM
I’m hungry.
Starving.
I’m so hungry, I swear if I don’t find something to eat... I don’t know what I’ll do. Hunger makes me desperate, makes me swear I’ll do anything I can. It’s usually not that hard to get food if you know the right places to look, the right kind of people to see. But some days are, of course, better than others. Winter is like survival of the fittest, because that’s the time when everyone decides they’d rather be inside then out in the open air. And it’s the time when they start to think more about themselves and conserving food rather than helping out those on the streets.
When I lived with you I didn’t have to worry about whether I would get another meal. You always supplied one for me, and sheltered me. You were like the angel everyone spoke of. The good creature that came from nowhere and put me in a somewhere. From dawn till dusk it was a spinning cycle of you and I and all we had. I would give a lot of things just to be near you again, but the problem is that I only have one thing left to give.
I remember, once, when you had to go away. But I could tell from your resistance, could sense from your hesitance that you didn’t want to leave my side. Wish I could have told you the feelings were mutual in every way, and that I’d sooner die than leave your side. But that’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Either way I’d be away from you. On the day that you had to leave you told me you loved me, and held my face in the palm of your hands. And you were warm and your breath was sweet, and you probably thought I didn’t understand what you were saying... but I did. I heard every word of it, and I love you too.
I think about you so, so often. You don’t even know it. But right now I’m so hungry, lying amongst deep snow banks. There’s white everywhere, white in the sky, white on the Earth, white upon me and I’m drowning in a blistering sea of white. There is quiet and gentleness of being here, like being beneath the surface, where sounds are muted. I strain to keep my eyes open, strain to find some reason to stay awake. But as I once mentioned before, I’m beginning to believe I’m more of a reptile than mammal. With my cold blood and my hunger I drift to sleep wondering, wondering will I resurface?
6:12 AM
I don’t know what day it is anymore. My eyes flicker open to the darkness of a foreign room. There is warmth about me, settling against me like your hand. I can hear the faint buzz of a radiator hiss through the air as I slowly raise my head to take in my surroundings. I’m in a small room with only one window that sits opposite the one and only door. The walls are bleak and bare and there is no furniture to be seen in the room. Only the plush carpet and the wool blanket beneath me, as well as myself fill up the space.
My legs and arms are bandaged and my eyes flicker to the sound of footsteps passing by the door. I hold my stillness till they pass, then dare to move. At first I feel guilty, like I have done something terribly wrong and that is why I’m in this room alone. But then I can’t even recall what it was I did. I’m positive whatever it was I didn’t mean to. If only I had a second chance...
My thoughts trail off to daydream of you, wondering where you are, wondering how you’re doing. Tell me, please, because I don’t understand, why did you abandon me? Why did you ever let me go? I thought we had all we ever wanted, all we needed and more. We were happy in my mind, weren’t we happy in yours, too? You said you loved me over and over that the words are now etched onto my heart. Even a memory doesn’t compare to the mark those words left on me. I trusted you, I trust you with my entire being.
I don’t blame you for what you did, do you blame me for what I did? Whatever it was... The last memory of you is like a really screwed up record in my mind. The pictures are all out of order. First there are tears streaming out of your eyes, and then there is a handshake. There is yelling, so much yelling I flinch in fear and hide away. Then we’re in a car and there’s that handshake with that stranger again, and more screams. And we’re back to the waving, the silent, tear-filled waving. The country road is empty and there’s nothing but fields and stars for miles and miles. And you climb back into your car and drive off, leaving me on the side of a broken road.
And that was the end, that was the last time I ever saw you. Maybe to this day you’re missing me, and thinking of me like I’m thinking of you. The thought comforts me slightly. I realized that no matter how many times you think of something it won’t change anything; it won’t turn back the clocks so you can fix it once more. Then I ponder if I did such a thing and made myself the happiest alive, would it make you the most unhappiest? Time after time, by and by, I slowly have only been waiting for the unfortunate me to die. As if I couldn’t live without you. I’ve made it along this far with just your memory in my heart, and even that it slowly fading away. I may have been born weak and pathetic, but with my own growing strength how many times have I changed?
The footsteps are back and the door slowly clicks open. I prepare myself as light gradually floods into the room, hitting me like a spot light. They see I’m awake and walk closer, leaning down in front of me. They pause and are cautious, afraid they’re going to scare me off. But I’m not afraid of them, only afraid of what’s going to happen now. They reach out and pat my head, and the warmth from the palm of their hand makes me weep on the inside. I can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad thing, and I may never know. There’s a small and fleeting hope. For now I decide to give them a chance, because maybe things are going to be okay.
9:19 AM
To let you know, when you left me by the side of the road, I waited there for you for days. I told secret wishes to myself; like maybe you’ll decide to call my name once again. You know I’d hear it if it was you.
Hey, maybe you’ll even take me back.
The End
(Extra surprise!!! If ya wanna know!)
Spoiler
This story was written in the point of a dog.
