The bedsheets laid undisturbed beside me that night. Once in a while, the wind would rattle off percussive rhythms against the shutters of my room, but it was never him. I didn't expect it to be him.
The late hours came and went; before long, the first rays of sunrise filtered across my bare feet with a warm glow. I didn't open my eyes though. I remained entangled, unmoving in my blanket until sunset of that same day. As the chorus of crickets outside my window resumed their symphony, as the evening breeze died down into a respectful silence, I became all too aware of the horrible emptiness of being alone.
I didn't move in inch. Now that night had returned, I felt the automatic mask of numbness slip over me. Like the night before, I shunned all feelings into a nice little corner in the back of my mind.
It was either that, or I finally fell asleep.
I awoke a time later staring at his eye.
That's just it though. It was the eye and nothing else. A simple, innocent-looking eyeball sat upon his pillow: the brown iris stared back at me as if belonged to a child...so pure and innocent.
I recognized whose eye it was without realizing it at first. Of course I knew countless people with the same eye color, but as I watched my distorted reflection on the surface of the glossy iris, my heart dropped... quite a bit. There was no question it was his. I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't stop smiling out of pure hysteria. It was when I reached up to wipe the tears from my stinging cheeks that I discovered the other eye enclosed in my right hand.
My lungs burned for hours from screaming. I threw up blood later that day. I wanted to go insane. I was going crazy over the fact that I wasn't going crazy.
I doubt many people understood the feeling of holding a glossy eyeball in your hands--the eye that belonged to the same person who used to wipe the tears from one's own eyes. The agony tore at me as if my limbs were being pulled seperate ways by horses.
The day passed away as inconsiderately as the day before. The only difference was that I'd made myself get out of bed and brought myself to dial the numbers that would put me in direct contact with him. It was high time that I finally asked him why he insisted on sending me such strange gifts.
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