OUR LOVE WAS SPECIAL
NOW WE LIVE SEPERATE LIVES
[ You a**! It was like my tears meant nothing to you!
► It shouldn't have been YOU that died!
NOW WE LIVE SEPERATE LIVES
[ You a**! It was like my tears meant nothing to you!
► It shouldn't have been YOU that died!
xxxxxxxxxIT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!
I met him 6 years ago. We were in high school, freshmen, our lives were so similar. He was one of those people that everyone wants to be friends with. That guy you'd think would be the success of his class. Taking charge of whatever came his way. If only we knew how wrong we were. His name was Tate, he like me was an artist. Our art was always unique, our abilities only seemed to be superb when we near each other. It didn't occur to me that I should ask him. Whether or not he liked men, but soon my answer would go answered. When I had accidentally opened his sketch book, and they were filled with pictures of me. Portfolios, head shots, poses, even some rather exotic pictures. I found myself both feared and captivated. Knowing now that he felt the way I had been afraid to ask him. That school year we were inseparable though how was I suppose to tell him I knew? He would be angry if he knew I had looked through his things. I couldn't tell him at all. It was too risky, though my heart ached wanting to see him tell me that he loved. That he loved me. Once I finally was able to tell him he froze, before he took me by my waist and planted our lips together. It was the shock of my life. What had happened left me charmed.
The school years seemed to be a pleasurable memory. The winters we snuggled close to each other on a park bench parallel to a lake sketching people ice skating. The autumn days he'd throw me into a pile of leaves and laugh as he helped me up. Picking the leaves out of my hair. That laugh, I loved that laugh so much. Pulling him down as we wrestled in the pile, he'd get the pin and kiss me on the lips. The springs were the flowers would bloom, every few days he'd show up to my locker with tulips, my favorite flowers. The girls would be jealous they didn't have someone who loved them as much as Tate loved me. The summers we'd go swimming in a lake a few miles down my parents house. He'd hold me by my hips and we'd twirl in circles in the water. Hypnotized by each others gaze. I'd compliment him on how well he looked, he'd blush, then tell me he loved me. That he'd never let me go.
Once me and Tate graduated we decided to try and earn our tuition into college together. It was going to be no easy task, the value of that payment would be expensive. About 400,000 dollars. "Fortune will come to those who believe love can lead them to it." He'd say. We rented a small apartment, working as artists for those who needed service, I made a small living teaching classes at a school for struggling students showing an interest in art. Tate would offer his skills on the streets, painting portraits for people, it brought in money and he'd always paint me when it came down to him truly wanting to make something that inspires him. Our life looked like it was finally going to take off.
That was until January 23rd, the day we had gotten our final client. This was going to be what got the two of us into a wonderful university. Though the stress had us in a wreck I couldn't take this pressure. We both had paintings to make, Tate would make a luxurious image while I stared at my blank canvas. Not a clue on what to do, in a fit of trying to help he'd stroke my arm in attempt of making me become inspired enough to paint. I got angry and threw my brush at his painting, it was ruined. That was it, he got pissed, leaving the apartment and getting in his car. Driving off that night. I was so sorry, I cried my eyes out for hours, screaming for him to come back. I knew it wasn't worth it, the fact I had hurt him drove me crazy. The following night I was given a phone call the car had reared of into the woods. The road was to dark and he lost sight. He ended up moving down a steep hill and into a field of fallen timber. He died on impact.
Now I just sit here in my chair, finding myself in shock. I look to my left and pick up a small container of asprin Tate would use when he got headaches. I placed half the container of pills in my hand. Then let them fall down my throat. Killing me the following hour on overdose. My memories....flashing before my eyes. From the very beginning.
