This is a monarchy: you are The Little Prince and I am Princess Die. It’s a bit awkward, actually, for a girl and a boy to switch places, have our own versions of adventure. We actually exercised diplomacy, and strong relations: I would have wanted you to be with me in this constant circumnavigation, so in exchange for that, I helped you understand calculus. You thanked me for that, and I might have took it the wrong way. Everything became an obsession on patterns. For instance, our projections as these figures, the imagined lives we are now having for our own, my illusion that we need to be together to keep the bloodline purely royal.
The problem set about blood mechanics and dynamics must be related to your goal to become a cardiologist, my heart beating so fast I was so amused that what I taught you applies on me too well, that you might have your first patient right in front of you. I was suffering from a heart attack, and I can’t move my hands. It was so close to yours.
I always think moving away and letting you be free was the right way. I never stared at you again so intimately when you were uncomfortable that we are actually seated again next to each other, arm rubbing against arm, on a tricycle with 087 as number, going back to the dormitory. Of course, I will not assume that every instance will develop into a relationship right away. I need to tell you what’s really happening to me in order to be clear and make sense. And I will be the first one getting hurt about distancing. Of course, I would not expect you to feel it. So I hate the feeling when you chat with your bestfriend over the Internet, your best option for a crying shoulder, and someone else being with you on a very stressful night in a place where mosquitoes fester your arms and legs.
And for the record, I won’t be insecure about those legs. There will always be a way to make it smooth, and for whatever reason you don’t want to show it, I allow it. That doesn’t make you any inferior. It may even be just me, and my constant degradation session with the mirror, that I do not deserve to be next to you and help you. The future is not as bright if I force myself to have you with me.
Still, I will be stubborn and try. To think about our little princes and princesses spoiled in a home we built for our own. And we own the land we live in. And we reign over the monarchy of ourselves, as free as our hair. I am going back to this style of writing so I can remember, even the worst of affairs.
Like you crying and I am not doing anything about it. Like you shouting at me because I insisted you to eat because you are still feeling stressed out. I never forget, and I don’t have the strength and pride to forgive myself for that. Maybe because I simply care about you. This is madness, in a way. And maybe you’ll never mind me saying this on paper. Again, because I never put it into words.
We are explorers, and I feel that I am too coward to let it out. So as far as the monarchy pattern stays, I will always be sitting at the throne, and I won’t wage war soon enough, until I can handle it.