'I don't like movies that don't have a proper ending.'
'Why?'
I knew this was not easy. It has never been.
'It allows you to come up with your own interpretation of the ending.'
'Isn't that good?'
'No. After watching the whole movie, it's the audience's sole right to know what happened. Then we can analyze our thoughts against or you know, with the writer's.'
I've been crumbling for so long, it's always like this, but. . . this time, why. . . is it hurting so much?
"Hey, watch out young man," Bright light flashed and almost blinded my sight. "Sorry," I mutter as a car flashes past me.
"God, this is crazy." Even the cool breeze, which was just alright before, is seeming to prick me with their cold sharp thorns.
A distant memory, not so far from today, came flashing to me, rushing my mind.
It was a Sunday morning, and our holiday routine was to climb out of bed, freshen up(bathing included) and call each other. We'd plan on whose house we'll go and who'll pick whom from their houses. Then we'd go to our nearest parks, or libraries and spend the rest of the day together.
Almost like a date, but not a date really, as I like to call it.
Scrunching her brows, she looks at me, "Never confessing your feelings to someone you love is a stupid thing to do," tightly pressing her lips together.
"Easy for you to say," I shrug, the bright white lights filling the entire library created bright freckles on our faces.
"Cause it is easy, Luc." She replies, glancing back at the book she's holding.
I scowl, ""What'd you know?"
She looks back, "As if you do, any better?"
Taking a deep breath, I look at her. "Trust me, you don't know even an ounce of anything."
"Oh, really?" She closes her book, and folds her hands on the table, straightening her posture, she looks at me with sharp eyes. And then with a soft voice she asks, "Enlighten me please?"
I, too, straighten my back, and look at her with a very serious look. "You can't always do it, like that."
"I mean just think about what will happen if she says no?' Which I know she will. I keep the last part in me, without saying it to you.
"What if she says yes?"
'Will she?' I stare at her, blankly.'Ever?'
"She won't"
Lisa groans, with a heavily irritated and equally frustrated sigh. "Damn man, how on earth are you so sure?"
Not knowing what to say, I look to the side. 'How do I say it? How do I ever express how I feel? When you—' Looking back at her, whose hazel brown eyes eagerly, equally frustratedly staring back at me.
"I'm sorry," a dazed look of bewilderment flashes through me.
"Why?"
She looks at me. "I didn't wanna sound mean or anything, like–"
"Dude, you did not."
"Why are you such a weird girl?"
She angrily removes her hand from me. "I am not weird."
"Yeah yeah." I repeat.
"Says the one," she rolls her eyes.
"Hey, excuse me I am not, in any sense weird okay?"
"So what?"
"Shh" The librarian shushed us, "Keep it down fellas." And this isn't the first time we are being warned, and certainly it's not the last. I wonder how long they'll have the patience to tolerate us, before they kick us out.
The only sound that existed after that was the ruffling of pages, and all the movements the books around us were experiencing. It had gone so quiet that you could practically hear how each person treated the books, some slamming them on the tables, or rustling them out of the cabinets.
We both sat parallel to each other, being four to five sad romances sitting leisurely against a few sci-fi ones. "I should be studying chemistry," Lisa groans, digging her head in the book she was holding against her.
"Then why are you reading these?" I say, faking a disgusted look at the book she was reading, skimming over to the other four laying beside her.
"I don't know." Thudding her head against the table, she sighs.
Closing my book, I say, "What's up? Is something wrong?"
Jerking her head up again, she says "I don't know,"
"I–I just," sighing again, she says, "never mind."
"If she really likes someone, then she should say it. Maybe she'll end up collecting a thousand boy kisses with that guy, in a little jar someday." I shrug, pretending to sound as indifferent as I possibly could.
Lifting her head, with wide eyes she stares in surprise perhaps. "You–you read it?"
I shrug again, indifferently responding, "I don't know,"
"Dude–wait," she pauses, as if realizing something. "You, what did you mean when you said she?"
"Huh?" I ask, with confusion.
"Whom did you refer to, as 'she'."
Glancing at the book, I answer "The protagonist?"
"Oh-okay." Nodding her head she gets back to writing something in her diary, something I didn't notice her taking out. "Why?"
"I was just wondering," she says. I wait for her to say something more, but when she doesn't I glance at her.
"What's that?" I ask.
"My journal."
"About?" No, I am not trying to show that I am an idiot who doesn't understand the meaning of a journal. I do. Trust me, when your best friend is obsessed with reading, writing, and more importantly talking to her future and past self, you just HAVE to know all about it too.
And my best friend just has too many journals. For instance, one for her to write all about her day, emotions, people she encountered/ missed, one for tracking her academic progress, one for collecting memories and adding short sentences, more like captions to pictures she takes. One for showing her eagerly active creative mind.
And the one she is currently writing in, is one I am not quite acquainted with. "I am actually thinking of writing a book."
"A book?" I exclaim. Though she has always been into writing, they have always been short fictional ones, she uploaded on tumblr. Mainly fanfics, of stories she loves more than her heart.
"Yes, I want to create something, solely by myself. Like I don't want to write another fanfiction. I want to build my own characters, my own world and my own story."
"That's brilliant Lisa," I smile, a bit too cheekily I guess. Trying to fix the way too broad a smile, I say, "Just make sure you don't have to go to jail after publishing it."
"Why will I go to jail for publishing a book?"
"Because of all the poor people who'll lose their lives, when they'll read your book."
And just like always, widening her big round eyes, she dilating her nostrils, staring at me as if I just committed the biggest crime I ever could. "Lucas–I–" Leaning forward, she grinds her teeth.
I lift a finger and place it on her approaching face, placing it on her forehead I calmly say, "Okay okay Miss Tigress, I am scared."
"Huh," Glaring at me she says, "You just wait, and see. After I become a famous bestseller, I'll openly boast with my books in front of your house."
And even when I tried refraining myself I just couldn't help but argue more, "With your hospitalized and almost dead fans?" Her face always glowed red, everytime she became angry. The redness started from her ears, and reached till her cheeks. Adding a soft, unearthly glow to her plump cheeks, doing justice to her plump rosy lips.
"Is it about love?"
She nods, and smiles, "Yes,"
"What's so special about it?"
"Love is special, Lucas. When you'll fall in love you'll understand."
I whisper, looking back at my book, "Yeah yeah," almost mockingly perhaps, cause I feel her glare at me hearing that.
"What? I can't even say that?"
"No,"
Closing my book, I stare at her, demanding an answer "Why?"
"What why?" Giving me an expression as if I have just said the worst thing I could ever be saying, her face turns a little red again. "Have you ever read any of them properly?"
"Yes of course."
"Which ones?"
"The most recent one, A thousand boy kisses."
"Only one?" she giggles.
Looking offended, I say in my fake defense, "I have read a few before but, I just don't like this romance genre."
"A few?" Placing her palm in front of me, she says, moving it up and down, "Names please?"