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Sighing gently, Martin propped his elbows against the railing of the fence before him and leaned against it, simultaneously resting his head in his hand as his mind drifted. A gentle, cold breeze crossed the man, finding himself sat against a table with an equally cool cup with him. He blankly gazed down towards the opposite seat, feeling lost; it was as if a fog engulfed him and he was now one with it.
Shuddering a little, Martin absentmindedly shifted his weight from one hand to the other as he next thought about his mother: how poorly she was and how she had no desire to be around her only son, how she didn’t care about him as much as a mother would. The thought alone forced a nervous sweat to break. Of course she was caring, how could he ever doubt that? Throughout his life, Martin’s mother cared for him on her own, and now he was being so ungrateful for all that she did for him.
Martin suddenly felt worse, holding his breath. Maybe that was why his mother looked at him with a scornful expression. Maybe that was why his mother refused to accept his visits at the care home. Maybe that was why she hated him.
His heart throbbed suddenly, denying the potential, harsh truth of his anxiety.
A sharp stab threatened his eyes as he felt emotions pricking out, letting out his breath in a small gasp; gripping onto the handrail firmly. Martin practised a quick breathing exercise before swallowing his spit and flattening his lips in shame. He should be grateful for his mother, she does love him after all. Or, did.
Love was a strong sword that challenged him. It stabbed and twisted in his wounds, yet he still found himself wanting to embrace and surrender to its pain. It’s not fair. But he should be grateful for it. Grateful that it even gives him the attention he wants.
Is this was it feels to be in love too? Why must love be so destructive, and not in the way Martin always envisioned it to be? Martin swallowed, suddenly flustered over his imagination. He thought love was soft and gentle, not a daunting velocity that he was so eager yet hesitant to get rid of.
“Martin!”
The call of his name shocked him out of his trance, turning to the direction of the voice. Before him, Martin saw a figure approaching, someone who he has been planning to see for some time.
“Jon.” Martin responded, almost in a shy mumble. Frankly, he was mesmerised, unsure of what however. Was it the way Jon’s hair curled across his neck and soon to reach his shoulders? Was it the way his lips perks up a little when he smiled? Was it the way the green sweater that Martin bought for him swallowed his scrawny body? Regardless, Martin found himself at a stump, suddenly embarrassed by how he simply stared at Jon in silence. “Sorry- I- I just..” his protests fell short as all he was met with an amused smirk across Jon’s face, reddening further in response.
“It’s fine,” Jon responded cooly, though with a hint of smugness within his response. “Shall we go now?”
Pausing a little, Martin glanced away from Jon and back to the street, eyeing the cafe on the side of the road that they planned to go to. Martin twisted to face the other and gave a small nod, effectively offering a gentle smile too. “Yes, of course.”
As the duo walked, Martin couldn’t help but admire the latter. Something in the way Jon spoke urged for his heart to jump out. Something in the way Jon excitedly moved when he talked about his latest job goal forced him to bite back a toothy smile. Something in the way Jon simply is made him want to surrender to this battle against love and give in to its peace.
Soon, they found themselves a seat at the edge of the cafe, now speaking more softly between themselves as to not disturb the harmony of the atmosphere. Martin slowly propped an elbow against the table and rested his head against it as he listened to Jon go on about emulsifiers, sighing contently. A soft and warm breeze brushed past him as he indulged in the moment of sitting with the man who occupied the once lonely seat in his mind, feeling the cloud of emptiness fade into the distance.
Love has now fought fairly, and to it Martin finally surrenders. Not through oppression or hesitance, but with certainty that this end will start a better beginning.