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The Last Night
I heard a soft knock on the door. It was quite; so quite, in fact, that I barely heard it. On this stormy, vile night, it could have been mistaken as the rain hitting my door. I was not expecting any guests, but I knew it was a knock, for the sound I heard was four consecutive hits on the door.
I set the mixing bowl down and entered the living room. I've always been alone, ever since I was evicted from my house when I was merely a freshman at high school. Now, three years later, and I have my own townhouse. I was fortunate enough to have a wonderful grandmother. She gave me this townhouse just before she passed, bless her soul.
The door made another four knocks, this time louder. I opened the door. There he was, soaking wet. He had worn his black pea-coat. It suited his grown-up look, though he was only 1 year older then I was. He looked so old for a boy so young, but who could blame him. He had to grow up fast. I let him in.
He took off his coat and gently hung it on a chair. I smiled at him. He smiled back.
“What brings you over here,” I asked.
He chuckled. “You,” he whispered.
He took a step towards me. I looked into his eyes, and I saw... panic.
“What's wrong,” I inquired.
“I just needed to see you,” he replied. He took a step back. “Really, I did.” He turned his head, soaking in his surroundings. My house was simple enough. It had white walls, a couch, a TV (although, I scarcely used it, considering I did not have cable) and a coffee table.
I stepped forward. He looked at me again. I smiled cupped his face, and pulled him close to me. I felt his cold lips touch mine. It was simple, yet it was effective. His cheeks warmed up to my touch.
“It's been two years,” he whispered, “Two years too long.”
I nodded my head. “It has.”
I led him to the kitchen, where I immediately put a kettle full of water on the stove. He sat on a chair near the dining table. I sat across from him, staring at his beautiful blue orbs suspended in white. Those eyes captivated me, made me fell as if I was one of the most important people in his life. He reached across the table to grab my hand. I held on to it, in fear of losing him. His hands were cold.
“So how have you been, love,” he asked.
“Fine,” I replied, “I've been selected as valedictorian.”
He congratulated me.
I thanked him.
We sat in silence. It was a comfortable silence; a silence I didn't want anything to break. It felt as if the whole world was frozen. This moment was the single point of eternity and we were the center. It was everything, and I wanted more.
But nothing last forever.
“My body,” he started, “stopped responding to the treatments.”
A single, tiny tear slid down my cheeks. He turned away. I held his hands even tighter.
Rain fell down his cheeks until it became a storm.
“I have two days,” he said between sobs.
I stood up, walked towards him, and knelt on one leg.
“The let's have this one night,” I replied.
I turned off the stove, took his hand, and migrated to the living room, where I put on our CD. The walls bounced around a slow, steady beat. He wrapped his strong hands around my waist as I wrapped my petite arms around his neck. We held our heads together, then slowly moved around. Our bodies were intertwined; we swung our hips from side to side, wanting this dance never to end.
“This was the first song we danced to, remember,” he whispered to my ear.
“I remember,” I replied. “Everyone at the school dance was looking at us.”
“I don't remember them. That dance was just between you and me.”
“I suffered because of it. They called me a fairy, a freak. Do you remember the other names?”
“Does it matter?”
I chuckled. “No it doesn't.”
I leaned in closer. I felt his heart beat. It matched mine.
“Would you have changed what we did,” he asked.
I took my head from his chest and looked him straight in the eye.
“Never,” I said.
He leaned in and we touched our lips together. They say that red roses look like two lips kissing. That was us, sweet, beautiful, kind, and magnificent.
The song ended, and I pulled away.
“Stay here,” I said, “just for tonight.”
I led him upstairs into my bedroom. In this cold, dark, night, there were no candles. There were no rough kisses. There was no passion.
There was only love between two boys. This love would last forever, even if we were apart. And so we slept, his hands wrapped around my fragile figure, as if he was holding on to whatever was trying to take us apart. We were roses, intertwined with each other.
But every rose has it's thorns.
When I awoke the next morning, I was alone. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still gloomy. I looked around. There, on the pillow he slept in, was piece of paper. It was torn, crumpled up, and soaked. I knew what it said even before I opened it.
I read the words. I had never known three words as beautiful as that one.
It was late. My body was cold, and my heart felt as if a part of it's light was taken. And for the first time, in a very long time, I wept.