hiraeth.

(n.)  a homesickness for a home to which you cannot

   return, a home which maybe never was; the

   nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost

                                                                                                places of your past

Is it normal to feel dead? Maybe not. You're alive, I'm alive. You're wondering, I, on the otherhand have no thoughts left. Thinking only bruised my sanity. Being curious, having an interest in things, in events, or in another living thing, tired me to death. I wish I was dead. But I am still breathing. I am still seeing the same sky as you do, still hearing the unavoidable noise of traffic, and still mourning for the lost. 

Before he invited me inside his house, he asked me a question.

"Why did you ran away from home?"

I looked at him blankly. He's tall and had a good built. He dyed his hair dark purple. While asking me, he had a small smile plastered in his face. I didn't answer.

I did not forget to answer him. I still didn't know why myself. Also, a part of me realized that I might have gawked in front of him. Peculiar. My first impression of him.

"If you don't know what to answer, just nod your head a little," he told me with a smile. "Is that alright?"

"Sorry," I apologized.

"Come in then."

He grabbed my stuff and showed me around his house. The last stop of the tour was a small room which I supposed was mine. White wallpaper covered the walls in contrast to the bed with dark blue covers in the middle of the room. Only one large rectangular window atop the bed's head board ventilated the air inside the room. It was decorated with cream-colored curtains. At the left side of the bed stood a small wooden drawer and on top of it were an empty picture frame, a digital alarm clock, and a lamp.There was an 8-drawer dresser at the right side corner of the room for my clothes and other things I brought.

I thanked him for letting me stay in his house for a while. I sincerely felt grateful back then. 

"Oh," he said before leaving, "I forgot to mention that we'll be using the same bathroom in my room. Enjoy your stay."

“What?”

He didn’t hear me then because he had already closen the door of my room.

We lived together for about three months. In those months, I remember almost every moment.

Th first month could be described as dreadful. He only talked to me when it was necessary. The line had been drawn since the moment I stepped inside his house. We only thought of our own lives.

“Can you please pass the salt?” He would say.

I nodded and pushed the salt near his plate.

I never answered his questions. One look at him is all it would take before he would say ‘nevermind’.

I grabbed my coat from the wooden rack. I needed to breathe fresh air.

I still wasn’t used to my temporary room. My room felt more like a cage to me.

“Where are you going?”

His sudden existence startled me but my face didn’t give it away, fortunately, when I

turned to face him. I began to open my mouth but then he spoke first.

“Nevermind.”

And as I have mentioned, both of us never tell each other when we will go out – when, where, why, and with whom – or say ‘I’m home’ when we arrived back. Just because.

The second month, a catalyst occurred. He rushed an unconcious me to the hospital. Blood dripped from my slashed wrist. A pool of blood was where I lay when he checked on me one gloomy night for I skipped the usual dinner with him every evening. I don’t remember much of what had happened after blackness swallowed my existence. What I do remember though was my suicide attempt; that, I remember well.

The first face my eyes saw when they fluttered open had been his face.

When I opened my eyes, brightness blinded me. then, his concerned face blocked the lights, and as I stared at his eyes, his expression turned to disappointment and anger.

What struck me had been his worried expression than the anger he was currently portraying in front of me.

He’s the only person who had shown me such an expression before.

So this was the feeling of happiness others feel when they know someone still cares for them.

He scolded me, nagged and nagged about how foolish I am to try and kill myself just to escape from my earthly problems. Ever since then, whenever I go out, he rushes to the rack to grab his coat and wear his shoes. I walked with him by my side as I strolled at the park. I listened to his amusing stories while we ate the food he bought for me. He dragged me inside movie theatres and amusement parks against my will. I wasn’t okay;I never had such company before. I was still distant as ever yet he tolerated my silent answers and light nods.

I will never forget, though,