An avian fluttering of the eyelids, my eyes adjust to the piercing orange hue of the sunlight. The sun, a giant ball of fire setting down in the horizon, a signal for the night's near unraveling and swallowing the whole of the sky. All the blues contrasting in on its angry blare of redness. A supposedly moment of peace, disturbed with the questions running through my mind: Have you told her? How much do you love her? Do you really?

My mind adrift, her laughs jolt me awake. I sway my gaze to her, absorbing all her features that I might see for the very last time: Pouty pink lips, always soft and giving against my cold, unyielding one. The very lips that the brightest of words I've ever heard fall from; her lips that seem to immure the secrets of the universe. And perhaps, the lips that hold the answers to all my questions.

Speckles of gold from the daylight glinting off of her raven, shiny hair which cascades down her shoulders, encasing her heart shaped face that glows with every passing moment. I remember holding it between my hands — it was as though made perfectly fit for the space in between — ever so gently, peppering kisses on her face as she punched and hollered me to a nearby wall. It was a very warm memory, but I only feel disoriented and cold. Like it has happened a million light years away.

Her hand coils around mine, prying my fingers open I have unknowingly clenched into a fist. She faces me this time, asking me what's wrong.

"Hey, are you okay?" she says. Concern creasing in between her eyebrows. Because of the constant knotting of her eyebrows, I once imagined she could see through me, worrying she might slap me for all the thoughts that always run my mind; the thoughts that should have never run through me in the first place. Sometimes, I wish she can see through me so I won't have to face this situation.

And I don't know which is worse: Wishing she can see through me for the sake of my selfish whims or being glad she can and never will be able to to save myself from a greater, tedious situation.

I force a smile, and she seems to soften but only for a bit.

"I'm fine, just reflecting on my life," I whisper the last word out. My throat feels scratchy, and something seems to be choking me up, not letting me say what I want to. But what do I want to say?

She sighs, clearly still not convinced. I squeeze her hand, trying to ease her obviously tense body.

"I swear I'm fine," I manage to say through the forming bile in my throat, surprised my voice comes out steady and normal.

She nods and squints back up at the glory that is happening before us. The sun moves down and down and down until we can only see the circular tip, and my tiniest ray of hope extinguishes as it finally drifts down into the depths beyond. We are finally consumed by the darkness; the central body of the solar system no longer there to guide me through this battle. It has finally rested, urging me to do the same: to quiet my restless mind and give myself a chance to feel a pretentious sense of peace. I am left alone as the world I stand in rotates and spins out of the accusing eye of the sun. But the ghost of the star still lingering as purple, green, and red spots decorate my vision. 

She lets the momentum soak her up before finally deciding to stand, pulling me to my feet. I heave out a sigh in exasperation and let myself be pulled to her. A wind breezes through, a willowy sound fills our ears along with the soft crackle of dried leaves, and the smell of fruits makes its way to us.

Smiling, she hugs me to her and rubs her face on the inside of my neck. She croons, and I hug her back even if my arms feel like lead and glued to my sides.

"I'm so happy I got to watch my first sunset with you." Her voice a gentle caress to my skin, and she hugs me tighter that I feel suffocated by the gap she is closing between us. I want to get away. She moves and the top of her head angles near to my nose, the smell of her strongly scented shampoo deluges the sweet smell of fruits. Her breath warm on my collar, filtering through the thin fabric of my shirt, and it is at that time she leans into my ear and utters the words I am very keen at avoiding.

"I love you."

Pulling back, she lifts herself up with the tip of her toes and brushes her lips across mine. I would have stumbled back if it isn't for her vicelike grip on my body with her arms slithered through my sides to my back, caging me in, her chest pressed uncomfortably against mine. My heart is beating so loudly and heavily inside, but she must have assumed it is because of our closeness.

She gives me an expectant look. My eyes wander around, finding myself an escape route but there is nothing that can help me. Panic shoots through the nerves of my body, blood vessels malfunctioning and producing icy water not blood as I feel myself perspire cold sweat and rivulets of it pace down my back and forehead, making myself look sickly. Yet, she shows no recognition that I am almost consumed by anxiety and unless I say the words, we will be stuck here forever, through the worst and best of times, through each generation of teenage kids experiencing different kinds of pain, through starvation and prosper, through everything and nothing all at once.

Holding myself together, I swallow through the lump in my throat. My words a mess, and I unwillingly throw away a part of myself again. I muster all the courage. My voice shaky and trailing off.

"I love you too."

I feel myself die a little. A part of me withers, giving myself the scare and hope that the melanin comprising my skin tone just might vanish, and my body will just slouch away as the last of the colors and spark in my eyes flicker then fully die out.

But it doesn't happen.

As what I expect, she bursts into laughter as she finally gets what she wants and merrily jogs towards her clump of friends. And I am left alone here.

I blame myself as she succeeds in manipulating and forcing me again to feel something I don't feel. A turmoil of emotions play inside me, and I surrender to the fact that I will always just be her puppet. I know if I express my true feelings, everyone will give me shame for breaking a girl's heart and not being man enough.

The bloody red cuts on my wrist flash up, and I immediately pull the cuffs of my sleeves to cover them. I feel the imprint of the small bottle of my anxiety pills pressing in my pocket, and my watch goes off to remind me it is time to take my medicine.

I look at her and find she has been watching me, a smirk playing on her lips and I attempt to smile back.

My feelings have never been regarded.