PS: This work is a "semi-poetic/verse novel". This means that every chapter has a poetic intro to the story. These starting poems summarize the story of that chapter. This is to give a small insight into what the current chapter is about. This is also meant to show a bit of what Peyg is thinking and writing as the story progresses.
PSS: Most of the chapters contain a "sub-story" either about the character in his works or about other events that progress the story for the characters.
PSSS: Every chapter ending will have a quote that is tied to the starting poems. This is meant to finish the current chapter with that thought in mind.
POEM ONE: OUT OF REACH FROM NOWHERE
(Looking from afar, she is a beauty.
Like a feeling of a sweet cocktail on a lonely night. That tingling sensation that you receive when two characters on the screen kiss under the shade of moonlight.
How I wished for things to be different.
Like the look that I would want to be and the way that she would look towards me.
Such a crappy fantasy in a lost-caused reality.)
***
The scrawny boy gazed from afar. Far enough not to be seen but close enough to see her. To see a person that he admires. A person that he adores. A person that he loves.
The boy was holding a notebook and a pen. He started writing what he thought of as his eyes never did avert from that one direction that he was looking at.
His smile that started from the moment he looked at her never did fade. He continued to show his emotions. His facial expression never did change but was expressed in his writings instead.
His hands moved in unison to the girl's movement from afar. The sway from her hair, the small nod from her chin, the closing of her eyelids, and the smiling expression from her face.
His hands wrote and wrote what it felt at that moment. A moment that was filled with a bliss that was too good to not experience.
The girl from afar looked at one of her companions and started talking with them.
The boy who was looking at her enthusiastically continued with his writing. He was trying to feel the breath of every air that was coming from her mouth from afar. He tried to hear the small vibrations of the sound flowing in the space just so he could indulge himself in thinking that he was beside her. He wanted to feel her smooth long hair that was swaying in the wind.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and stopped writing. Although he couldn't see her, her image was stuck in his plain of imagination.
In that scene, the girl was alone and he approached her. The girl looked at him and smiled. He sat beside her as she gazed from afar. He looked at her and saw closely all her facial features.
He tried to touch her but as soon as he does, the image from his mind vanished. His eyes opened back to reality and saw the same scenery.
The girl was looking towards someone from afar. Just like how he is looking at her, that same vibe lingered from what he saw.
After seeing that scene appear before him, his hands couldn't continue to write. His hands became numb. Again, he closed his eyes.
He thought of what he was thinking about the girl. About how he wanted her to be beside him, on how he wished for things to be different, and on how he wanted her for himself.
He opened his eyes after realizing his selfish and disturbing actions of fantasizing about the girl. He wanted to be someone else and constructed an idea that he could make it if he was that person.
He couldn't. He knows that he couldn't.
He pitied himself for having thought of such things, for wishing for a different outcome, and for wanting to be the other person who was not him.
He averted his eyes back towards the girl. A man approached her and started talking with her. The girl was smiling the whole time when the man was beside her. That man gave such a bright persona that the girl seems to love.
Seeing the scene uphold before him, he felt a small tug in his chest that aches as he continues to watch her. The pain in his chest wasn't quite what he expected to feel earlier but it was something that he felt was going to happen sooner rather than later.
He looked at his hand and saw his pen. The thought of everything he saw made his hands shake.
He looked at what he had written so far and saw that it was unfinished. There are still more things that he wanted to add and to make that possible he needed to continue writing.
He took a firm grasp of the pen and slowly, he wrote. He moved his hands in order to finish the narrative he was trying to make. Instead of moving in unison to the girl's actions, it moved in unison to what he wanted to finish.
A deep sense of understanding that he couldn't change what was being presented gave him the will to continue writing.
May it be pain, agony, and suffering, he continued moving his hand. Small droplets of tears began to fall from his eyes. The tears stained his notebook but he continued without wiping them.
He already had eccentric handwriting but the tears made it look more unique. Unique in the sense that it altered the format of the words making it look like the narrative was alive. For every droplet that touched the ink, the letter deformed in shape as it affects the other letters with both the mix of ink and tears.
This made it harder to read what he was writing. Still, he continued with it without caring about the look of his presentation.
As he finally reached the bottom portion of the notebook, he wrote his final thoughts in that last sentence.
He finished writing and put down his pen. He looked at what he had done and smiled. A smile that instead of the feeling of happiness, was the feeling of relief.
The whole page of that notebook was filled with a wall of text. One big paragraph with all the words being connected to each other. The tear stains made roots of words making it hard to read.
An amalgamation of his thoughts, feelings, and hard work.
Just like how he wanted to express what he was feeling, he made it alive in his writing.
He felt relief that he finished. Even more so, he felt that he was done.
There was nothing I can do.
Looking down, both in action and unto himself, he grinned.
"This world is just unfair. This sentence shall end it."
He packed up his things and left. No goodbye was heard for there was no one to hear it.
In that faraway place where he was sitting, nothing changed.
He was not noticed nor was he relevant for the scenery.
Blending to the environment, existing by not existing.
The bottom line of the notebook reads:
-"Oh how cruel can you be, thy mistress of mine heart and thy world."-
***