Chronicles of The Lost Thought: Memories
DeVars knew what was to happen if he should sit down again and crave for something to write on his journal - so he went on straight to the bathroom to get a good shower for the day. The baths were a small room, typical of fit for a sixteen men troupe. He slowly took off the white shirt covering a small, tight, washed-off black Metallica undershirt.
Metallica was well - obviously a band - I don't know what's it's exact background was but the shirt - I got it from my bro - passed down. It was somewhat cool before - it's vibrant black shows of the bright reds on it - with that big gruesome freak of a bat flapping it's midnight wings from the front.
"You like Metallica?", a small voice broke my undressing ritual. The black shirt was totally covering my eyes - half-way to being pulled out. I decided to place it back on before talking to her - she was a girl afterall... and I don't talk to femmes with a top less.
"No... that is - we're just cool.", I said to her in a casual voice, nevermind the irritation that she invaded a bathroom with me in it. "I actually know little of the band."
"That shirt is too small for you - you know? Why don't you just throw it off or donate to some charity.", she suggested as she went near and pointed to my other shirt, the simple white one. "Now, this one is much better - simple, but better than that old one. Why keep?"
The question made me look down on the dull old asphalt colored shirt I wore back. It is somewhat old and small. But I kinda used to use it as undershirt when times get this cold. "I - uh... this has sentimental value.", I replied, kinda half-lied on the moment. This shirt really has sentimental value... but only a pinch and dash sort of one.
"Sen-ti-men-tal- what's that?", she asked innocently, tilting her head as if trying to look at me with a different angle and hoping my face would write it's own answer for her to read.
"Thats how things are remembered. Things which have sentimental values are remembered easily - people often match something to an event or other thing they prize.", I answered in a good choice of words that she may easily understand.
She nodded enthusiastically, "Oh... ", and gave me a fixed stare, "so how can I get some of that -mental value?"
I smiled at her question and chuckled a bit, "Well... you can't."
She frowned instantly at the moment she heard the negative implication, "B..but why?", she stammered on with the question - almost on the verge of crying through disappointment.
"Because things only get sentimental value..."
"I'm not a thing?", she quickly interrupted. Though hers doesn't look like a question - much like she was trying me to confirm she was not treated a thing. I answered by swinging my head sideways no and continuing my reason.
"... I don't treat you as a thing - ever. But people also have this sentimental thing... and they call it simply as memories."
"How can I get you memories of me then?", she asked bouncing - fervently enthusiastic of how things come on to such a breeze.
I smiled at her and turned my back, "That - is when you are missed."
She moved about and maybe danced in that small space she stood in, in the end she was this all happy and about. And then she tipped me to face her, which I did that made me saw her smiling face, tilted somewhat - getting me to react something cute. "Missed me?", she asked again.
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