Blank Pages
I remember her.
The girl who always drew beautiful portraits of life.
so colorful and full of life.
in an empty art room in the quiet corridor.

we were in junior high.
I had friends of my own and
a perfect academics scores.
in sports I always win the final goal.
am humble and kind.
am a son who made his parents proud.

I know about me.
I know the things in my textbooks.
I know the people in my school.
teachers, students, friends. you name it.
but her.
she is someone I never knew about.

seasons changed. she stayed the same.
every time I walk by The hallway.
I peek into the room.
her back facing the door.
her hand painting poetry in the canvas.
I couldn't see the full piece. but I could she's crafting a masterpiece.

I developed a bad habit.
during every recess.
I take the long path to my classroom.
to walk by The old abandoned artroom.
I stand still and stare at her short hair.
always wondering what's running in her tiny head.
I wonder what her eyes would look.
I wish I could see things through them.

I am guilty of stalking an artist.
but I couldn't help it.
I don't want to be a creep. So,
one rainy day I gathered my courage.
and wrote her a letter.
mentioning my name and class. at the top.
describing my admiration towards her art with my sloppy writing skills.
guess I am not an all rounder after all.
in the end I signed.
I carefully folded the paper into two.

and continue to the habit of mine.
this time I gonna communicate.
the courage I gathered isn't enough to face her.
I hope she finds this letter of mine.

seasons turned to years.
we came to senior high in no time.
I still give out letters.
in return all I get is a blank page.
but I still preserve them hoping and believing somthing mysterious existence.

I still pass by the art room time to time.
but in the recent times. I can't seem to find her.
nor or art masterpieces.
the things she crafted are gone.
the canvas are nothing but a empty heart.

I fall down to the ground wondering what happened to her.
I wish I could have gathered more courage back then.
atleast I would have known her name.
and seen her eyes and a smile.

I get up from the floor.the bell rang. it's time for me to go home.
but I did not. I stayed.
I searched again and again
all over the place.
I couldn't find anything but
blank pages in the end.

seasons changed. she never came.
back again to this tiny world of mine.
I can't find any blank pages anymore.
I got used to her colors. that these void is making me misarable.

I got used to colorful pages. that these blank pages makes me sad.
now I can't find the blank pages too.
I can't find anything at all.

I walk back with disappointment and regret.
I hold on the blank pages I received from the past. in my arms.
they are the only ones left behind.
if I had just spoken to her that day
we could have been friends.
raindrops pour down from the sky
and they hide mine that fall from my eyes.

the only keepsake I left from her
are these blank pages.
I run as fast I can to find a shelter
it's too late the pages are soaking wet.

I am under a shelter of small house old restaurant?
it's open but nobody is there.
I lost my appetite and the keepsake.
A women around my mother's age.
invited me in because of the rain.
I refused I don't own any money too.

but she insisted I don't wanna be rude.
I took a seat near the window and ordered nothing.
she started to talk. about her daugther who is around my age.
while she is making somthing.
I heard her story keenly.
I wonder if my mother talks the same way to others too.
this lady is sweet. she made somthing for me to eat. I said I couldn't pay.
but she said it's fine. this hot soup can lift any sad souls. it's her daugther's favorite.

while drinking the free soup.
I glanced around the shop.
it's pretty well maintained and gorgeous.
and I glanced over the wet pages once again.
they became little dry. but to my suprise.
words started to appear on them!

I was confused for a second. then I realized about the existence of hydrochromic ink.
I couldn't Believe myself. I don't know how to react.

so I turned my focus on the Cafe again.
I started to notice all the details.
and I saw it.
the paintings. the pieces.
the magical crafts.
that were gone from the artroom.
that kept me wavered through the years
are hanging on the walls.

I asked the lady about the artist.
she said. it was her daugther.
I asked whether I can meet her.
but in a sad tone she says. she's dead.

the mother narrates

" she always loved to paint. whenever she gets free time at school she would go to the abandoned art room and does painting. she once said that she got a secret admirer who writes sweet letters.

but actually she already knows about the secret admirer. she knows his face, his name, his voice, everything. I never seen him but she insists on saying he is super cute. but he never knew about her. he knew nothing about her.

and she was too shy and wanted to be mysetrious so she gave letters written in hydrochromic ink. the page will be blank but when it becomes wet the message will be revealed.

she mentioned that the letters he wrote gave her ideas to paint. her mind & heart was once of full life. but when she heard the news of her brain tumor. her canvas went blank. but he saw her colors before and made her continue when she lost them. she had no friends. she always had a blank page infront of her. she never knew what to do. but a words of sincerity with sloppy writing skills made her day...."

the mother breaks down in tears so do I.

I look at the letters she given me.
there are so many lines to read.
My eyes are blurry.
but one particular paragraph that made me shed more tears is

" My life wasn't interesting. it's just a blank page. My heart wanted to paint. my brain reached it end. the colorful canvas once i had was lost. but you reminded me about my lost dreams. Thank you for everything"

That day I promised myself.
I will remember her

© holy_stars