Chapter Ten

                                    

                                          


                          
"Rose roseate painted in red, 
                          
Mine heart veneered in the hue of his thread-bled, 
                          
He purposely came into my life only to spread, 
                          
Love and its winged limbs to take me to my homestead, 
                          
Blush berry-like strawberry, 
                          
You tasted heavenly, 
                          
Took me on some ferry, 
                          
Made me crave your lips cherry, 
                          
Solemn sight of mulberry, 
                          
Infused into to me, my merry;
                          
Rich palette of some rainbow on a sunless steady, 
                          
He brought me to this island of life in a wherry, 
                          
Only to leave me stranded with these memories all ready, 
                          
Now I yearn for you to make your way wary." 
                          


                          
With an exasperated sigh, he closed his doodled notebook with a forced snap. What was wrong with him? He pathetically wondered again. Surely, he wasn't falling for the stranger, was he? It was insanely intuitive, for someone like him to be bewitched by someone else, given his identity. Moreover, he needed to forget the mishappenings of yesterday, since he had probably scared him off by his rather forthcoming behaviour. 
                          
"Like the idiot, I am." He shook his head apathetically. 
                          
Words couldn't well define the resentment that was rather ebbed into his mainstream of mutilated malice. Emmett had shown a peculiar penchant towards that enigmatic onlooker, an affinity that he, particularly hadn't possessed until now that he was confronted with the confounding truth about himself, especially regarding his feelings towards a certain someone. But what was done, was done, he couldn't undo the baggage that he had packed for himself like some eccentric, unconventional dingbat since it was his mistake, he was to be blamed for everything that he, like some beatnik human, had committed so foolishly. 
                          
There was not much that he aspired to do, yet he had a habit of surprising his conscience with such unforeseeable, instinctive actions that could cause dastardly diverse consequences for him to bear, but Emmett was sure that what he had so selfishly committed was, per se, a necessary evil because it was rather a goodbye that he wanted to savour than a deed of some narcissistic, self-centred eighteen-year-old boy who was surprising, infatuated with a charming young lad. Maybe, it represented the lack of tactful thinking on his part, but it was whatever, and he had to get over this since it was slowly, leading him astray. 
                          
Ruminating, Emmett had conveniently spent the night and much of the day that followed after such a ravishing night, overthinking and purposely self-deprecating his worth since that was all he could do and feel. With laboured breaths, he tried to rid himself of his presumptions and pre-restored dilemmas regarding everything that had transpired between him and that stranger, a chore that was quite thought-provoking and ridiculous in a way, because Emmett just couldn't forgo of the memory that he had shared with him, or well, had practically compelled to share it with him. 
                          
Like shimmering seashells of the oceanic vista, the stars were beautifully streaming some rare effulgence, enrapturing the beholder with some eminent magnificence that was stealthily spiralling, unwinding the unsaid, like some fortune-teller, unsettling and simply concerning the onlooker with a future that was rather effectively unpredictable. Just like the present that presumably, seemed to be malignant with hopeful associations that were cloaked with a cloying confectionary of some gnawing sweetness, Emmett was coaxed into believing that the past was to be left as it was, something that was to be kept in some wooden cupboard of a rusty storeroom, concealed and safely tucked away for good, but he had always believed it to be otherwise. It was simple to ignore such burdens posed by life, truly but untying the knots to a wool ball had a reward, something that closely resembled nirvana, or so he thought anyway since his opinions were underrated and he was, to a certain degree, fine with such a perplexing underestimation of his perceptive abilities.