P R O L O G U E
P R O L O G U E
Jules was the girl who told me she was summer - all wished for her to be there and to last, but lasting too long and shining too brightly everyone wanted her gone when she was with them for too long. I told her that she was art and that through time always someone would be there to call her beautiful. This is how we met.
She had a lot of opinions. Most clashed with each other just as much as her different personality traits clashed. Sometimes she loved me and other times she didn't. The first day she would tell me she wanted to marry me, only to tell me about a boy from Italy she wanted to run away with the second. Then there was a part of her that didn't seem to love at all. A stone cold, dull-eyed part, that moved on before she even really got anywhere. That part wanted everything, sadly everything but me. When looking at her I never could decide what the sparkles in her eyes resembled; shattered glass glimmering in moonlight, or Christmas lights in the darkest night - perhaps the sparkles in her eyes were stars for every and each one dream of her that had died.
She had three different ways of doing everything and sometimes more now I think about it. One day she would fold up her laundry along with mine and the next she would simply throw everything into a basket and toss it next to the bed. Little did I know that on the days she wasn't with me, she did no laundry at all, knowing people would eventually do it for her. These were the three parts of Jules, showing her clashing main characteristics perfectly. I never knew why Jules conflicted with herself so much.
Some mornings she would wake up next to me and look at me as if she never wanted to wake up without me again. Other mornings she would look at me as if she just wanted me gone - looking like she wished I had never been there.
And I know some mornings she would wake up to the soft snoring of a boy - barely a man - she had met just the night before. I knew this because I couldn't always be there for her and she seemed to forget she loved me sometimes. She did not live close either, leaving me with a bone-aching jealousy to those who could see her every day and a feeling of sehnsucht for her. Only her.