#tristanevons

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He wasn't always as quiet as he seems, and he definitely was not this broken. The cracks were only evident within his soul and nobody knew of the pain he was battling within himself. He was the carefree spirit that thrived off of adventurous trips on the weekends, and now he was the timid love beneath the skin. 

The heartache was the biggest pain of all. The empty void that was growing, and the fire that was fuelling the discomfort. Five months. It had been five months since she left him, since he was asked to leave the smell of her hair, and the touch of her skin. It had been five months since his world inverted to this dispirited point in time.

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He met a girl at a coffee shop, she had ginger curls to die for and a smile that made the birds sing even on the darkest of days. She had a pale complexion that would light up the unilluminated surroundings and eyes that outshone the wandering stars - but no matter how warm she made the town, to him it always seemed indifferent. 

How was he meant to show her that he cared when everywhere he placed himself was fragmented and his thoughts were melancholy? How was he meant to take the girl with the warming charm to a place that never felt dismal and arctic within himself? He had given her flowers, daffodils to be exact, he made a chain out of the bloomed nature and placed them around her head like a halo; because as everyone had known, the girl with the ginger curls was a gift from the heavens above. But although she was the rebirth of a fallen angel, he still did not feel the passion within his inner being. 

The girl would be uncertain of his feelings because of the lack of emotion he'd show, he wanted to softly plant kisses over her ivory skin and make her feel unharmed but he was jaded and wanted nothing more than loneliness. No matter how hard he had tried, the tears would not escape from his eyes no longer and he found it hard to love another, another being and another soul. Another person that was not her. 

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He wanted to be there for the ginger haired girl, he wanted to be there in case another would bring harm into her life. He wanted to be able to defend her and show her that she was a cause worth fighting for but regrettably he could not. The dark scar left inside his sentiments from his past love left him broken one too many times. The nights that were once spent with his long ago significant lover had been the only thoughts that would occupy his fragile mind. 

He found it harder to defend. He found it harder to stand up for what he believed in. His fragile physique only left him to battle with words, the only way he could express his thoughts was through verbal combat. But in the end no matter how skilfully he structured his sentences, and no matter how many times he had used a different word with the same meaning, he would always find himself kicked down and a feeling inside of being a failure - a loser.

It started to become harder and the passion he thought he could show the girl he came across in the coffee shop was diminishing. Unity was a quality he wanted to demonstrate by singing to her a tune that he had written for the pair, but he could not find the words to settle on for every letter he'd transpose was of those that he had sang to another heart. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, he wanted to learn to overpass the mourning of the love he had lost those now  three years ago. He wanted to know what it once felt like to love; he wanted to live a life of affection once again and rekindle the old feelings of adoration and devotion to another living soul. 

But how was he meant to learn to love when he had became accustomed to the feeling of heartache. How was he supposed to feel the warmth of a further darling when all of his teardrops had been exhausted on his past? 

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It was getting to the stage of life where he needed to pick himself off of the ground. He tried as hard as he could to compose a symphony for the girl with the now silver hair but all these years had been lived the same. He tried his best to show the once ginger haired girl that they would become one, that they would become an ensemble within his composition. But unfortunately his composition was decaying like he had those somewhat fifty years ago when he left his emotions on the front porch in the form of a rain drop.

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