I will see her again tonight. Her pink plump lips will deserve my full reverence while her cheekbones arouse the passion within me. This is another Saturday that goes by without speaking to her; another year without speaking to her. It is impossible for my subconscious to stop composing dreams that are suffused with the memory of her, and many times I wish that I would not need to sleep. It is agonizing to have a vivid display of her pink plump lips rushing against someone else, someone who isn’t me. During the day, I’m almost convinced that my feelings for her have been suppressed, but as the sun sets, these dreams retrieve every memory of her. These dreams are arduous to forget; she’s impossible to forget.
I have been fantasizing about the dress my beloved would wear. I have imagined her in a mysterious black dress, in a soft pink dress; I have imagined her in a lily-white dress, in a conquering red dress. I thought about the heels she would wear, and the way her long black hair would perfectly fall upon on her shoulders. I imagined her moon-shaped diamond earrings and the necklace she will wear; the necklace that I gave her. Yes, that is how I will decide if I dare to dance with her; I shall dance with her if my necklace remains hanging around her neck.
I’m growing anxious. These paroxysms of anxiety are becoming almost unbearable, and they have become conspicuous as my mother noticed my fingers trembling while I buttoned up my dress shirt.

“Oh dear, let me help you with that. You’re terrible at hiding your emotions. You’ve clenched your jaw all day, and I noticed you searching for your tie- which was clenched in your hand the whole time- like a d**n dog trying to bite its own tail.”
This was true. I had flipped upside down every corner of my room- even my hamster’s cage, which revealed the unexpected dead body of my poor hamster- looking for this d**n tie.

“Now, tell me why you’re so nervous! You’ve been best friends with Emma since elementary school. Just be yourself sweetheart.”

And that, just like every other adult in the world, was my mother’s advice for everything. Be yourself.  Two simple words, one giant pile of s***. You see mother, being around Emma is not the cause of my trembling fingers. Well actually, she was not the girl I had intended to take to prom. The girl who I’d initially planned to go with was robbed from me, and it is my fault for allowing the thief to commit such heinous act. And what’s worst is that he was not the only thief; everyone wanted to dance with her. Everyone wanted to kiss those pink plump lips.
Emma, being aware of this, warned me that my arrogance was making me blind; she warned me about the possibility of my intentions not being reciprocated. Well, you can tell a child to stop playing with fire, but they will burn as many dead leaves as they can until the fire burns them. My dear’s love burned my heart, my soul, yet I craved it more than anything else.
I had everything planned. I spent long hours of the day thinking about the greatest prom proposal, and picking out the most elegant flowers for her. She loved flowers. She loved their colors and their patterns, and sometimes we took long walks through the tremendous garden of flowers that her mother had left for her before her death. She drew them on her notebooks, on her wrists, on my back, and on my cheeks. She believed that tiny parts of her mother’s soul belonged in every flower, and that every flower belonged to her. In retrospect, there was a specific kind that she loved the most; the Red Suns. Whenever we encountered the red sunflower, she touched it with such delicacy that one would think a baby would be jealous of such delicate care. They hypnotized her, and I became hypnotized by the beauty of such scene.

Her date was a charlatan; he was just a boy with a fast car- A boy with a mediocre sense of humor, with protruding eyes that revealed nothing but foolishness. He dressed in abominable and bulky clothing. The sagging of his pants made his legs appear to be shrinking smaller and smaller with every step that he took, and caused him to walk like a penguin in need of defecating. I do, however, understand that one should not judge others because of physical appearances, but this is not the reason of my abhorrence towards him. I have met with Mr. penguin on several occasions, and every time he greeted me, he offered a handshake with his left hand. Now, everybody knows that one must not trust a man who shakes hands with his left hand.
How could I allow such fool take my beloved by her waist, and dance with her to slow melodies containing the darkest magic in them? There is no darker magic than the witchcraft within every love song. They have the power to blossom love(genuine or artificial) in us all; and this dark magic lives like a germ inside me that causes every love song to remind me of her. Every love song describes her infinite beauty, and they emit sunlight to the love that she has planted upon me; it grew strong and firm. Of this love I was sure of; of her love, well, not so much. I mean, if she still loved me she would not dare dance with another man.
 
The sun finally sets, and I have finished getting dressed in my black suit. Emma, however, did not approve of my suit, as she wanted me to wear a suit that would match her violet dress. Knowing that matching for prom is mere convention, I could not give in to Emma’s request. I detest the color purple, but as expected, Emma argued that violet and purple are not the same color. In order to solve our problem due to different perspectives of colors, we asked guidance from the god of this modern world, the god with all the answers; Google. After searching “is violet and purple the same color” numerous times on Google, Emma became furious, and decided to wear a black dress to match my black suit. And as always, all hail Google.

There were many pretty girls in black dresses, including Emma, but they seemed tedious when my beloved walked inside the ballroom wearing a compelling red dress. She walked in with so much confidence that her beauty became almost intimidating. I could see all heads turning to capture the image of her; all eyes on her, my eyes on her.   She wore crimson lipstick, which made her lips look like the petals from her beloved Red Suns; she was a red sun that made the stars around her seem insignificant. I admired her meticulously, from head to toe; from freckle to freckle .I saw her date gazing at her with his protruding eyes that began to bloat at the sight of her. I wished nothing more than for his d**n eyes to pop out and roll on the floor into the deepest hole of the earth. He held her hand firmly; he held her as if his hand would grow numb without her touch. As exasperating as it seemed, I could not blame him because I knew he was holding a diamond pearl amongst thieves. He loves her. She can make anyone love her, but seldom can she find a man who brings her happiness. I knew she was not happy with him as I noticed the broken smile on her face. My dear friend, my dear enemy, you’re holding something that has never belonged to you. Your compliments, they mean nothing to her; you mean nothing to her.

As she strode closer to me, I noticed that her neck was naked. Her collarbones were an addition to her art, but they seemed lonely without my necklace watching over them. She did not love me anymore, and my soul began shivering at the thought of never crossing paths with hers.
She avoided me at all times. When all the couples started dancing, Emma and I drew nearer to her, but every time I glanced at her, she quickly focused her eyes on the ground. She did not dare to look up. Her smile remained broken, and I was restrained from fixing it. As cold spiders of melancholy crawled all over me, the music played on and I could see her date placing his hand on her waist so delicately and amorously. Extreme envy built inside of me and I clenched my jaw so spitefully, that my teeth were soon to shatter themselves.
Laughter filled the room; melancholy filled my soul.  This pernicious poison within me began choking me, and I had to escape it. The only escape was leaving the room; the only escape was entering oblivion, away from her. As I carried my hopeless body outside, the sky seemed darker than ever. The sky was naked with no stars, but it seemed big enough to embrace me and blanket my sorrow. Everything was calm and silent until a sudden wind began to drift by, making the wind chimes cry- they began to cry louder and louder, as the melancholic poison filled the air.

‘I thought you’d left.’

Her voice was delicate and I could sense a bleak tone to it. I did not dare turn around; I thought it was the solitude of my soul playing tricks on me; a divine illusion. What happened next was euphoric. She grabbed my hand and guided it towards her chest. On her chest I could feel the cold stone of the necklace as it contrasted the warmth of her skin. I was then facing her luminous emerald eyes that seemed to be happy at the sight of me. Immediately, as an unconscious effort, I pulled her closely with my hands around her slim waist. There she was, in my arms again; my hands clenching onto her waist as if they were trees returning to their soil. With each second, I pulled her closer, while she seized her arms around my neck. There we stood, still as the sky above us, without saying a word. Then we danced to the music; not to the music inside the ballroom, but to the melody that the wind furnished upon the wind chimes. The sudden wind appeared to be a gift from the gods above. The wind chimes proceeded with their melody and we danced and we danced.