DRY TEARS

'People come and go. That's life.'

I don't even know how many trains we've taken in the past two weeks. We don't even leave the station anymore. We get on, get off, nap, get on.

We haven't been eating. We haven't been moving our bodies. We haven't even drinken.

Ben noticed my absence months ago, before I even did. He gifted me his old notebook with the previous pages ripped out, leaving the ragged edges of the paper preventing it to close properly.

The others have fallen asleep on the bus, except for me. The notebooks in my lap, a pen conveniently next to me.

I pick it up and begin to write like I have been. Writing everything on my mind, yet nothing at all.

After writing my passage I look back on my previous word vomit. Flipping through the pages I slowly watch as my handwriting gets less readable, my spelling gets less comprehensive, and my thoughts become less sane.

I shut the book, and look up at the door in front of me, everyone on the train is as disassociated as me. The crackheads, the homeless, the mental, and the sick. We are all the same.

The train halts and everyone sways with it, yet no one reacts. Except the others who woke up. The doors in front of me part, letting a gust of wind flow through.

This time, we decided to walk around instead of wait again. It's pitch black outside, raining and sketchy.

I hear a repeated putter. I can't recognize if it's the rain or my increased heartbeat. This place leaves me upturned. Something's about to happen.

The lights of the city blur the street like a distorted painting, the cold causing my skin to crawl. I let my head hang, staring only at the ground in favor of aching neck.

But as I walk I run into Taylor. I look up to see the group stiff in sight of something I can't see.

Taylor runs forward in tears, she runs right into Tyler's arms, falling to the floor in sobs. And Aiden, stiff next to them.

Aiden. Standing right there. The Aiden who saved me. The Aiden who always has a psychotic smile. That Aiden.

The girl bug saw her flower, aching just to be with it. The sight of it reminded her— the rain is worth it if it brings flowers.

The only thing she can do to see her flower is to is lift the lid with one final push. But that small task seems like a mountain for her.

But you know what? Fuck the stupid "girl bug" metaphor. All I am is a teenage girl who just wants to hug her friend she thought died. But I just can't.

I stand there— frozen— my eyes locked on Aiden who was scanning our group. Seeing him will always hurt. It's aching only to be within his sight, yet out of touch.

I feel a wave of déjà vu. Like I've been there a million times over.

Have you ever stood in-front of someone that you just grieved? It's not pleasant. Not like the movies, or books.

I already was moving on. I already excepted my fate. But here he is— right in front of me.

Should I run off? Or say hi? Do I hug him?

But before I could even finish my thought. I snapped to with Aiden closer to me, his hand cradling half my head like he did for— what feels like— years ago.

"Ash?" He says, or.. Maybe he could've been repeating my name. I don't think I'll ever know, though.

"Eh— sorry," He mumbles, lowering his hand. Something feels empty as he does. That 'something' is me. I'm empty without his touch.

"I guess I'll never be used to your bound—" But I cut him off by a bear hug— before I can even think about it I was burying my face in his chest— pushing him till he stumbles backwards with my force.

I can tell he's caught off guard. But I don't care. I'm on the brink of breaking down— my back is sore, my eyes are welling yet dry, and my head is pounding.

I feel the ghost of his hands hovering over me, as if he's about to revive the hug. And he does. Not a minute later he hugs me. It feels firm at first, like a squeeze. But it lets loosens up into a gentle hug. He buried his head in my shoulder, and I could feel him sigh before loosing up.

I'm in Aiden's arms. That's all I've wanted for months.

We stood there for what felt like hours. Just frozen in an embrace. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't, we were stuck in time. I could feel the ghost of my tears, I could feel how hard it was to keep a steady breath.

Shortly after we decided to get food, since we now have the support of Aiden's money we could eat real food for the first time in months.

We're sat at a small restaurant. The interior felt fancy yet casual. Like a Chick-fal-a.

I ordered a clam chowder with fries. It came out hot so I couldn't eat it. But just the smell of food made me want to sob.

I can't believe how ungrateful I was. I had the privilege to say "I'm not hungry". I had the privilege to complain that "I only slept an hour". I had the privilege to tell people that "my parents are so annoying".

But now I sit here, with food. I actually get to eat tonight. It feels like a fever dream, that I am really sitting in a restaurant that has a heater, and food, and drinks, and soft seats.

It almost feels like too much. Like that this is something like a fancy trip, with maids and servants.

But I know it's just the bare minimum for a human life. But— what is the bare minimum?

Because I used to think that this was the bare minimum. I believed that this was the starting point. That a roof over my head, food to eat and a family to raise me was the bare minimum.

But, it's not. The bare minimum in life isn't to have enough to complain. But to have enough to understand that you'll never get to complain.

_______Word Count: 1074