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Hwei treads along the mushy earth, feeling every crunch of his shoes on the pebbles. Water laps at the ground, wetting the bottom of his shoes. He couldn’t care less. As the breeze caresses his bare arms, he revels in the cold air. The trees around him are clinging onto the last of their green as leaves are turning into rot on the ground. He stops as he reaches the middle of the shore. There are the eyes of an alligator poking above the surface, motionless as it stares. Hwei’s own eyes drift over, locked on as the alligator remains.
The alligator blinks, slits sharpening, as Hwei keeps watching. Hwei wonders what the reptile could be thinking. What there is to ponder about when you are simply a creature. You’re hungry? Hunt. You’re tired? Lay. You want to leave? Leave.
Leave. Hwei tosses the word around in his mind. It takes so much out of him to leave. He yearns for the capability to leave when he needs to. Instead, he bunkers down. Taking every hit, shouldering every burden, until it creates a version of him that he doesn’t recognize. Rather than the observing alligator, he becomes a frightened animal. Cornered, with nowhere to escape, with nothing to defend itself, it keeps trying to no avail. It’s why a rabbit will kick its feet despite being in the maw of a predator. Though Hwei is not that rabbit, he isn’t escaping. He can’t escape until it’s too late, until the pain has been inflicted and the damage has been done. It is only when Hwei is left with his open heart bleeding on the floor does he leave.
The alligator, seemingly bored of their staring contest, swims away. Hwei breathes out a soft laugh, even the alligator can leave before Hwei can. He decides there is nothing left for him here, so he turns around and finds solace under a tree. Brushing the dead foliage off before sitting down, Hwei leans his back on the scratchy bark. The slight pinch on his skin keeps him grounded, keeps him alive. There is nothing for him to do but wax poetry in his mind. He has to keep the rest of his senses inside of him. The sky is dreary and bleak, only dotted by a screeching crow as it flies across his vision. The air, crisp and dry, stings his nose as he breathes. The moist ground seeps into his clothes, sending a chill down his spine. His phone doesn’t buzz with a message, nor does anyone call for him. There is no one left to reach out. He cut that out of his life.
“Not like he had done that, anyways,” Hwei mutters, as his fingers twirl around a sad, soggy twig.
A part of him has to be happy. He has to be happy about the reality. He has to be content with his actions, even find pride that he could walk away for the first time. But walking away for the first time meant walking away for the last time. It is over, Hwei reminds himself, it is over, because I wanted it to be over. It is unfair that the moment Hwei stands his ground would be the crumbling of unstable walls. It is unfair that whenever he would push back, Hwei made sure to carefully build everything back up. Hwei could be the only one to try to rebuild, but he couldn’t.
He blinks back the forming tears, as a lash of hatred whips in his throat. He hates him. Hwei hates that he refused to put in a modicum of effort. Anything to show Hwei that he is still loved. Hwei hates that he would’ve taken a breadcrumb, and that would’ve been enough to satiate his hunger for love. What good is a partner if he couldn’t even be given that? Hwei crunches the twig in his fist, letting the remnants scatter on the ground.
He has to reinforce the idea that it is for the better. The logical part of his mind has listed the pros and cons a million times; he knows that he will be better. The other side of him conflicts with all the facts. His emotions weave in between, cutting through like how sunshine does with the clouds. But this isn’t sunshine, this isn’t something he can feel warmth from, gain light from. His insides are murky like dirty water that you shouldn’t touch, but, God, Hwei wants to drink from the water. He wants to reach in, cup his hands, and take a big gulp. He wants to condense his emotions into something tangible, something to ingest and hurt him. Like a poison, Hwei muses, this is a poison that Hwei wants to take.
The havoc that he brought into his life is only merely an evolution of Hwei’s own self-destruction. Now without him, Hwei is left to his own devices. He is back to his own tendencies. He has no one to blame for them, not anymore. Maybe that is why Hwei stayed for so long. To have that excuse that it isn’t his fault that he was in pain; it is easier to explain that it was another’s fault, than his own.
“Whatever,” Hwei bites out. He squeezes his head in-between his hands, fingers gripping tightly onto whatever tendrils of hair it finds. The pain jolts him out of whatever spiral he is falling into. He is back to thinking about the positives, because that is all he can do.
And it is positive, it is a good thing, Hwei chants to himself. Why waste a life mulling around for a man who is clearly over and gone. He recalls the memories of being in that man’s apartment, floating around like a wraith, as the other left for the day. Hwei had lost sight of his own ambitions; he laments the forgotten paintbrushes in a dark corner. He knows where they are, but the sight of them strikes a fear inside Hwei that he had never felt before meeting him. He has shoved them to the wayside, and each passing day, the poor brushes merely collect more dust.
He should get back to them. There is a canvas waiting for him to breathe life into. Hwei has a flash of invigoration, thinking about what to paint, before it flies off just as quickly as it comes. Hwei closes his eyes, and thumps his head against the tree.
The strength leaves his body as he slumps down. It is all too much. He is trying to let go whilst simultaneously rebuilding his life. He is not a special person who can pivot so quickly from one woe to another, already patching the sadness inside. He is weaker than average; Hwei can barely handle multitasking on a day to day basis. Anxiety smothers him hard, and misery compounds the little heart he has.
Hwei lays down, letting grass tickle his body, as his head rests on a pile of leaves. It is what he knows best. When everything else around him is too much, he knows that nature will never leave him. The Earth will always be under his feet. The grass will always grow. The tree will always let go of their leaves and become stronger. Outlining the naked branches above him, Hwei wishes he could be a tree. To nearly die only to regrow, Hwei wants the ability to metamorphosize into an improved version of himself.
Maybe that is what he is going through, maybe he is improving, but Hwei can’t see it. The thought stabs him deep, when he thinks about the future. He will learn, and by learning, he will become stronger, but to step into this hypothetical version of himself without the man he had been with for this past year? That is unfathomable to him. Hwei did become someone else, and he had seen all of it. To do it again but without a spectator? Hwei doesn’t want that.
“Whatever,” Hwei repeats, watching the words turn into mist. One of these days, he will look back with fondness. He will reminisce on his evolution. How change is for the better. But for now, he lowers the volume on his mind, and allows himself the tranquility of silence.