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a million voices

there has been something in you that was never there. something that spoke to you so softly. you wanted to know what this voice was, who it was for and why. you weren't raised by your parents, as they have abandoned you at a young age. they too were too young to have a child, and you, well, you weren't supposed to be born. you're that mistake, the one authors write about in their stories -- the one who's supposed to save the world from untimely issues.[break][break]but, that's a lie wasn't it? those voices in your head, they want to tell you a story, their story. the wind that carries the voices, it's always there. blowing so gently and carelessly. you find it a blessing and non-threatening. your grandparents taught you everything you needed to know.[break][break]your grandfather was the writer and he told you that you should let those voices be heard. you kept his words close to your heart and slowly you wrote about the stories of each voices, on top of a hill overlooking sundial city. friendship, fights, and love, they all came rushing to you as you wrote and though your writing goes all over, it became quite easier in the future.[break][break]when you go out, you go to a specific book store, a small one too. there's a woman there you fell in love with, and can't help to get enough of. she was beautiful and would always smell like lavender. she was your first love. she told you stories from the books she has written and from the books others have written -- she was so beautiful.[break][break]and at an age, you were so innocent, and she, she knew how you felt and told you she could not fit your needs or desires how age is a conflicts both needs, and yet she comforts you.[break][break]those million voices in your head, they became more, they became one and they became your voice. when you grew a bit older, so did the woman you love, however, on that day, that day where it was the anniversary of their meeting, she was gone. and in her placement was a young girl who looked just as lost as she was.[break][break]'ms lavender is in the hospital, i'm sorry. she did leave this for me to give to you.'[break][break]"you spoke of stars as if they are the only things in your life,[break]you spoke as if they were the only ones meant for you,[break]and the way i see it, you always have that one star you said you would reach.[break]i'm sorry i couldn't be that star for you.[break]i hope, when you look at those stars, you would smile like you always do."[break] - ms lavender.[break][break]and suddenly, that was it, that was the end of your first love, the end of your writing. you never picked up a pen or looked at paper the same way.[break][break]

ARMS ARE OPEN WIDE

it’s been a long while since you last wrote a book, or even a story. your grandparents has seen how far you’ve improved on your lifestyle and how it changed for the better. you were hired as a babysitter for a young girl who’s merely eight years younger than you. odd as she was, you paid no mind to her as you continued your studies and kept to yourself.
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even sometimes, the two of you would play house and you would always be the man and their familiars would always be the kids. your familiar would sometimes catch glimpses of your smile and your small chuckle. she knew perfectly well that you’re happy being with the child. it came to a time where you began to write a simple story about a young girl named evra; her adventures as an alchemist discovering the philospher’s stone. it was a great idea at the time, and you never knew how it would affect you now.
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one point, right at the point of when you were barely paying attention, someone took notice of how fast you wrote and how passionate you were to write. you were willing to share but at the same time you weren’t. as a birthday gift, you were published. when the first book arrived you were overjoyed and exhilarated, you signed the book and went on your way to give it to the person who inspired you.
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you know fully well, that time would come and go, and you would be separated from the young girl. this doesn’t affect you, right?

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HANGING FOREVER

how long has it been since you’ve last done anything? the years have come and gone. you now own the house your grandparents raised you in. somehow, in this huge house, you never felt so empty, you always stick your nose into books as references or continue to write your next big hit. when it comes to relationships they never last, as the only reason people who are into you are into only your looks. not daring or even notice the person inside that makes you you.
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the last relationship, let’s just say you weren’t prepared. you knew where your heart was and you knew where it belonged. but the venomous woman took your heart and ripped it out. you’re uncertain, you’re so awkward now. here you were, defenseless and without a proper guard to keep your emotions up.
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it’s that wall again, it’s all gone. you let it go and now, you’re hanging. your arms are open, and your heart remains closed. it’s embarrassing, the things you do now. when you do something wrong or that something has ended up walled and pictured in the hall of embarrassment, you completely hide -- but to keep your cool appearance, you deny it, making it even worse for yourself.[break][break]

FOND MEMORIES

• it was a long time ago, that first love. she was reading that story, the one you read later on to the girl you babysat. you couldn’t remember much of the details other than the shining prince and the princess whose beauty was compared to the moon. you always wanted that prince to be you, the one who comes to sweep ms lavender off her feet. And every time you go to visit her, you would quote from the book “I’m the sun that guides all who live under the light and you are the moon, my opposite and equal, through toughest times and through the hardship of many, I vow to love you until we become the stardust in the sky.”
• when you were older, around the time you were babysitting the young girl. you read her stories, countless of them too. they put her to bed and you found it, what’s the word -- peaceful. whenever bedtime was near and the young girl was already drifting to sleep, she would hold your hand in a death grip, you didn't understand why she didn't want to let go, but you felt the obligation to stay by her side. not even a few minutes passed by, and you too fell asleep. your head resting on the edge of the mattress. this makes you smile, knowing that you can make someone happy with your stories. you could say, she too was one of your beginnings in loving to write again. 
• oh god, great googly moogly, you remember this stupendous memory well. it’s too embarrassing to tell and you keep it to yourself, sometimes your dreams revisit that day. a memory of yesterday it felt like. you wanted to throw a surprise for the young girl’s birthday and you dressed up as a prince. it was only once, and you’re always surprised by her expression. you danced with her and as it became late, you give her a light kiss on her forehead and went off. you came back only in your normal attire and asked her how her night was and the two of you, for the rest of the birthday celebrated until you had to leave.
• there’s another memory, somewhere deep inside of you, you can vaguely recall the time you were embarrassed, the first time. she somehow found her way to your school and everyone assumed she was your daughter. You grew uneasy and turned scarlet red from the thought. pure embarrassment, and you try not to remember it. however, sometimes, there are certain triggers that make you remember it and you become too embarrassed out in the open and just have your hood pulled over her head and cover your face. no one sees you, yup.

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not so fond memories

• you already loathe the thought of being in a relationship. perhaps all of those times you've dated throughout high school and college have finally paid off your damn arrogance and thick headedness. this doesn't seem to work on you, and as you reach the climatical part of your age, you met a woman who was so keen and optimistic of her life. you were attracted by her personality, the ambitious type. in fact, you were overly worried for her and often tried to make sure she was alright; even though she would punch you in the face or gullet if you surprise her by accident.
• it's that memory you don't want to remember, that one moment in time where you were screaming and hating that world. you were just a young child and you didn't understand what happened to ms lavender. despite the fondest memories you could ever recollect, you would sometimes wake up from the nightmares of ms lavender on her hospital bed looking sadly at you. you never stood then and you would never understand now. you don't tell anyone about your first love, no one ever knows it. those memories, those pictures, you lock them up in an album in your studies where no one is allowed to enter.