Theory Of The Constant Melody

CHAPTER 19

STANDING BY THE AWNING WINDOW WITH MY BANDMATES, we screwed up our eyes, trying to peer through the mist. It is hinged at the top and has a small area outward below which lets in air.

“We’d better scout up a replacement for Annalyn,” Acherous suggested that he’s got more than it took to make it.  “The foundation day will be held before this semester ends and we need to limber up for the event,” he added.

Our eyes darted to him lasting a second or two before Greg cleared his throat. “I guess we should talk about it in some time. We’re here to make merry, right?”

“All right,” Froilan seconded then tucked his long hair behind his left ear.

“Besides, enjoying this day can be the best day to recuperate Cyan to his full recovery,” Harry rejoiced.

Past three in the afternoon when we gadded around the mall after the university’s dean suspended the afternoon class when received a news that Rodeo Drive would be closed off due to the explosion of one of the machines of a certain factory near it. After an hour, we have passed by here at Greg’s unit.

Countlessly, Harry has been asking for apology for not even visiting me at the hospital which was absolutely fine. And then, he had to run in his granny’s casa weekly to pay a short visit. On the other hand, my remaining bandmates called around at the third day of my admission to the Claizer Permanente Center.

Picking up the vibe from the present people, we’re just mesmerized how the picturesque of the city—the avenues that have become the spot for relaxation about everyone’s day—can be seen from the tenth deck of the condo. The stupendous display in a perfect grid pattern sumptuously looked great.

Pleasing to think that they perked me up while I was catching up on the activities Acherous and I have missed for the last week. Yes, my best friend was absent to take care of me. I truly owe him this.

Over the days, he dashed off the written activities and romped through the tasks. Meanwhile, I had thrown myself into those and even corrected his some mistakes or inaccurate data. Truthfully, I don’t tolerate cheating, as long as he’s learning, I’d rather opt to correct or teach him.

“Freshen up your drink, Cyan!” Harry shouted tipsily when noticed me behaving so smoothly.

We are spending a half of an hour, consuming a fraction of a one-liter alcoholic liquor. Undeniably, Harry was really gagging for drinks; he knocks a miniature back for a short period of time, even he invites us to hang out. Additionally, without his family’s knowledge, he tends to lark it up in the bar.

Sitting on the vinyl linoleum flooring carpet, I leaned back on my arms and I flickered my eyes with Acherous who was just sitting prim in a winged chair, splaying out limbs; biting hands skeptically. “He doesn’t drink, Harry.”

All eyes on him.

After a few seconds, Greg went in as he snapped up a case of liquor at the mini store along meters. The door swung shut, then Harry stood up and almost toppled down the steps past the couch. He came a little more closer to Greg and slung his arm around his friend’s shoulder.

“Dude, do you know…” he began as if nothing would he feel other than struggling to keep his balance. “… Acherous didn’t drink up his—”

Greg spoke crossly as to complain, “You take a pew, Harry. You smelt… so reeking of alcohol.” Afterwards, he caught at Harry’s arm then it sloughed carelessly in the air.

I cradled the stem of the snifter glass and swirled it suavely; ice cubes bounced back, submerging, and the liquid waving. As I sipped to it, my mouth traps its strong aroma of brandy. The sour and vile taste slipped into my mouth as it penetratingly burned my throat as passed through it. I lolled my head to the side and let out a sigh.

Meanwhile, Harry lurched and without further moments, he slumped onto the floor making his head hit at the edge of the couch.

Therewith, he sobbed. Musing on the period he would often cry that his love had driven away and regrets he made in life which triggered him to be more paralytic by evening.

People are really good at hiding their feelings. We have these persons who can share problems with, but not all.

I stood up unwarily, making the bottles on the table wobble. I paced toward Harry and sat next to him. Patting on his shoulder can too way better to ease him off and relay my empathy.

“H—harry…” Peter stammered as he stumped past us and squatted a mere foot away from our bandmate.

“It really hurts to realize that the person you cherish will never love you back,” he quavered.

And so the night goes on.

There is a sort of broken heart that memories touching the flame, but will leave ashes. It will never be possible, perhaps, the heart shattered disarray of fragments that can be fixed by far.

No matter how to get rid of coming up against all odds, it can’t alter to suss out that we need them to grow.

Presumably, what I hate about love is it will intoxicate you until the laughter becomes contagious, pain gets deepened, overflowing happiness engulfs the day, and most especially, perfect to the eye if I were a glass figurine, flimsy beneath.

Furthermore, the pain sears at everyone’s heart, either way around to be unable to understand aches, and worst only wanting that love is all about joyfulness. No medication can heal, yet other persons won’t do. If the pain could have this graveside and casket to bury, then it would be easy to let go.

Getting down on your knees to plead, saying that love has meaning for the both of you means to think over that it would be much more special to sleep on that love doesn’t define to urge.

Like the chirps of the birds that can’t glide through the air as it once did before.

Just for once, let tears stream down your cheeks as your eyes will serve as the exit of pain when your heart already worn out.

SATURDAY MORNING. There will be days I hope to stay in the warm. Even though air exposed to view as the gush of wind choreographed the trees.

Like the past few days, Acherous was half naked, trying to be as satisfactory as delightsome to my eyes and taste. He’s actually trying his best to make me awe in relish by his seasonal recipe, ramen.

I grabbed my phone and looked through the screen to check the time. 7:12.

Before discovering I’m awake, his phone put to its ringtone, a sign that someone’s calling him. To the place it came from, he easily got at it.

“Hello, Shandria?” he greeted which gave me a non-categorical hint who’s speaking over the line.

“Uhm… yes. Good morning. I’ll call you back later. I’m preparing food for Cyan.”

“Of course, he’s my best friend. I’ll hang up the phone. Bye.”

I chewed on my bottom lip while viewing how his corded muscle rippled as he reached his arms overhead and straightened after.

I hemmed. “Shandria…” I uttered and nodded repeatedly.

Another day, another wound to be added to my collection.

He turned around and looked into my eyes. Dilated pupil can only be described how his pair of tantalizing eyes hurt me the most as it would find the infirmity.

“D—did you hear what I s—say, bro?” he stuttered and clasped hands over head then looked heavenwards. “I meant to tell you this—”

I talked to cut him off, “Bro, no need to explain. You just love her and I don’t hook you into disliking her. I’ll just… support you. And whenever you cry again, count on me.”

I can grant ideas to disguise my love. Like a panorama, there must be no unbroken scenery as it affects its beauty. For this instance, the panorama became a quarter of each view displaying a small portion as it slowly came into focus—that I’m just his best friend, nothing more, nothing less. Not a quick blur anyway since it was clearer than blue that he still loves Shandria.

He cast his sight onto the ground and pain overtook his face as he glanced back up at me.

This is the struggle against jealousy, pain, and the time spent with each other.

“Cyan…” he spoke. “Can’t you feel, Cyan?” He had a sore quality of feature as the genuineness of him consumed by pain that believed no limit.

I sat up and hurled my pillow at him. “Bro, of course, I feel. You love her. That’s why I’m persuading and encouraging you to fight for your love,” I replied and gave him a half-suppressed laugh.

Padding barefoot toward him, I tousled his hair and looked over the pot. “Hoping it can satisfy me this time.”

Unreal smile crossed his face and he dodged me while faking a laugh. “Well, I never failed to amuse you, bro.”

“Let’s see, then. By the way, I know you’re familiar with Geneva Jones.”

He nodded without even uttering any words—or just sounds he could create.

“He’s inviting me to an LGBT+ block party next week. To be close-knit and ally of the square, I ask her if I could invite you and she agreed,” I informed.

“Do you look upon her as a friend?” he asked, not congruous to my question; his eyes settled on me like I committed a sin.

“Bro, do you feel o—”

“I’m fine. Just answer my question,”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Good. Well then, I’m going with you.” He smiled at me and strode about meters to get at his guitar. He came back; guitar in his arms while he’s plucking every string.

“What’s with that? I mean… do you have something you want me to listen to?” I asked with my back rested against the wall; arms and legs crossed.

Without replying to me, he just strummed continuously the strings while staring at me with the promise of tomorrow.

“You’re the hope casting the golden rays through the dark clouds. Every single day that I wish you’re the perspective in indifference. And I see that hope is your eyes believing a little higher that you’ll be mine. Perhaps, there’s nothing wrong with loving unless you’re feeling pain. Nothing is sure, but I’ll make this period to be our fingers intercross each other and kiss every inch of your face.”