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Description
27th June, Clark sees Alexis write. The black-inked ballpoint pen in Alexis' hand forms letters across the white paper. The paper has become a bit crumpled since Alexis writes on it with the paper against her lap. Her right hand guides her pen while her left hand hugs her knees as if it is unseasonably cold. Clark is sitting cross-legged beside his friend on the grassy terrain with his hand propping his head as he watches Alexis with an inscrutable expression on his face. The two have positioned themselves by their late friend's tombstone, Blake, who died a few weeks ago in a road accident after he was put in a coma for four days. After Blake's sudden and unpredictable death, the bereavement has given Alexis a devastating impact.

Clark's eyes drift to Alexis' plain but significant necklace. A short black string penetrating the top center of a red guitar pick encircles her neck. She's wearing a plaid shirt patterned with horizontal and vertical straight lines of black, grey and white. These items are strong allusions to Blake since they were two of his favourite items when he was alive. "The slight pressure of his guitar pick can evoke so much memories of him in my mind," Alexis explained with a wistful smile etched on her face when Clark once inquired about the necklace. When Blake left, he also took Alexis' mirth together with him. She has been miserable ever since. She bottles her feelings up inside, filling the bottle until it is full. Cracks will form on the bottle and the inevitable moment when the bottle shatters into thousands of tiny splinters will arrive if the suppression continues.

With that in mind, the words tumble out of Clark's mouth, "Why are you doing this?" Alexis' hand stops moving. Silence stretches between the two of them. Alexis turns to face Clark who refuses to allow the silence to prolong, "Why are you doing this—writing letters to someone who's—"

Alexis' azure eyes widen. "Don't say it." The words pass her lips in a soft whisper, barely audible.

"Dead," Clark ends his interrupted sentence. A wavering lens of tears forms in Alexis' eyes. She purses her lips and shuts her eyes, willing for the crushing sense of realization unfurling inside her to vanish.

23rd May is the date imprinted on her mind. It was a sunny day with gay, yellow sunshine streaming down the city. Blake halted before the road. The black asphalted road was lined with alternating black and white stripes leading to another pavement where a traffic light stood by with glowing green light. He felt vibrations spreading through his body from his jeans pocket. His hand dug the pocket, took out his cell phone and pressed the 'Answer' button. The traffic light changed from green to yellow and eventually red. The text 'WALK' was glowing and the pedestrians, including Blake, began to stroll across the road. "I'm on my way," he says to Alexis who was on the other line when he walked. Alexis asked another question and Blake was about to respond when he heard the sound of honks blaring to catch his attention. He turned to his side and caught sight of a navy blue pickup truck hurtling towards him. Before he could finish his sentence, the truck collided with him. He collapsed to the ground. A great fan of scarlet liquid stained his jungle green T-shirt. Blood pooled around him, forming a red puddle. People around him let out frantic clamoring. His eyes narrowed and later, closed.

The sound of Alexis choking in anguished tears enters Clark's ears and pangs of pain smack him. The tears roll down her cheeks and fall on the letter, tainting it. "Please stop crying," he ventured tentatively after arranging words in his mind. Ignored, Clark continues in hesitation, "I—I just don't want anything to happen to you. I've lost Blake; I don't want to lose anyone else." Clark scoots closer to Alexis and removes her hands from her tear-stained face. Holding her hands, he gazes at the pale face between jet black wings of hair and says, "Especially you."

"You don't understand," counters Alexis. She frees her hands from Clark's gentle grip.

"I understand that sending letters to our late Blake won't bring him back. In fact, nothing will. He's dead, Alexis. The letters will never reach him and so he is unable to read them, unable to know how your life is on its way to hit rock-bottom." Suddenly, gravity fills his voice as he goes on to say "Unable to know that you are drowning in your sorrow."

"His death was due to me!" When she notices Clark opening his mouth to protest, she immediately continues, "Don't deny it, Clark. It was! If I hadn't called him, he wouldn't have to answer my call and could focus on running across the street, avoiding the truck that was going to hit him."

"You don't know that. Someone else could have called."

Alexis stares at Blake's tombstone. "I'm not like you. I've got no parents, no family. Blake was always there for me and I for him. But he's gone now. I have nobody, Clark." Tears pool her eyes once again before rushing down her cheeks. Clark has never felt like an outsider more than he does now. He has always known that he was a bit of an outsider among Alexis, Blake and himself. Alexis and Blake had a special, tight bond connecting them. There were numerous conversations when they had shared inside jokes and had chat about things Clark wasn't aware of while he was around, struggling to catch up with them. The two of them were inseparable. But Blake is gone now and Alexis refuses to let go of him. "I had only him in my life," sobs Alexis.

"Who was I to you then? Who am I to you now?" Clark voices out after a beat of silence. Alexis remains quiet, unable to formulate words to reply to Clark's questions. Noting this, Clark continues, "You're losing yourself, Alexis. But I'm here for you. I always have been."

Alexis, whose face appears morose, stands up. "I have to head back now." She turns on her heel and leaves with the unfinished, crumpled letter in her hand. As she walks away from Clark, he can feel the distance between them stretching further out.

We're chasing after somebody but end up being further apart from that person.

Description
27th June, Clark sees Alexis write. The black-inked ballpoint pen in Alexis' hand forms letters across the white paper. The paper has become a bit crumpled since Alexis writes on it with the paper against her lap. Her right hand guides her pen while her left hand hugs her knees as if it is unseasonably cold. Clark is sitting cross-legged beside his friend on the grassy terrain with his hand propping his head as he watches Alexis with an inscrutable expression on his face. The two have positioned themselves by their late friend's tombstone, Blake, who died a few weeks ago in a road accident after he was put in a coma for four days. After Blake's sudden and unpredictable death, the bereavement has given Alexis a devastating impact.

Clark's eyes drift to Alexis' plain but significant necklace. A short black string penetrating the top center of a red guitar pick encircles her neck. She's wearing a plaid shirt patterned with horizontal and vertical straight lines of black, grey and white. These items are strong allusions to Blake since they were two of his favourite items when he was alive. "The slight pressure of his guitar pick can evoke so much memories of him in my mind," Alexis explained with a wistful smile etched on her face when Clark once inquired about the necklace. When Blake left, he also took Alexis' mirth together with him. She has been miserable ever since. She bottles her feelings up inside, filling the bottle until it is full. Cracks will form on the bottle and the inevitable moment when the bottle shatters into thousands of tiny splinters will arrive if the suppression continues.

With that in mind, the words tumble out of Clark's mouth, "Why are you doing this?" Alexis' hand stops moving. Silence stretches between the two of them. Alexis turns to face Clark who refuses to allow the silence to prolong, "Why are you doing this—writing letters to someone who's—"

Alexis' azure eyes widen. "Don't say it." The words pass her lips in a soft whisper, barely audible.

"Dead," Clark ends his interrupted sentence. A wavering lens of tears forms in Alexis' eyes. She purses her lips and shuts her eyes, willing for the crushing sense of realization unfurling inside her to vanish.

23rd May is the date imprinted on her mind. It was a sunny day with gay, yellow sunshine streaming down the city. Blake halted before the road. The black asphalted road was lined with alternating black and white stripes leading to another pavement where a traffic light stood by with glowing green light. He felt vibrations spreading through his body from his jeans pocket. His hand dug the pocket, took out his cell phone and pressed the 'Answer' button. The traffic light changed from green to yellow and eventually red. The text 'WALK' was glowing and the pedestrians, including Blake, began to stroll across the road. "I'm on my way," he says to Alexis who was on the other line when he walked. Alexis asked another question and Blake was about to respond when he heard the sound of honks blaring to catch his attention. He turned to his side and caught sight of a navy blue pickup truck hurtling towards him. Before he could finish his sentence, the truck collided with him. He collapsed to the ground. A great fan of scarlet liquid stained his jungle green T-shirt. Blood pooled around him, forming a red puddle. People around him let out frantic clamoring. His eyes narrowed and later, closed.

The sound of Alexis choking in anguished tears enters Clark's ears and pangs of pain smack him. The tears roll down her cheeks and fall on the letter, tainting it. "Please stop crying," he ventured tentatively after arranging words in his mind. Ignored, Clark continues in hesitation, "I—I just don't want anything to happen to you. I've lost Blake; I don't want to lose anyone else." Clark scoots closer to Alexis and removes her hands from her tear-stained face. Holding her hands, he gazes at the pale face between jet black wings of hair and says, "Especially you."

"You don't understand," counters Alexis. She frees her hands from Clark's gentle grip.

"I understand that sending letters to our late Blake won't bring him back. In fact, nothing will. He's dead, Alexis. The letters will never reach him and so he is unable to read them, unable to know how your life is on its way to hit rock-bottom." Suddenly, gravity fills his voice as he goes on to say "Unable to know that you are drowning in your sorrow."

"His death was due to me!" When she notices Clark opening his mouth to protest, she immediately continues, "Don't deny it, Clark. It was! If I hadn't called him, he wouldn't have to answer my call and could focus on running across the street, avoiding the truck that was going to hit him."

"You don't know that. Someone else could have called."

Alexis stares at Blake's tombstone. "I'm not like you. I've got no parents, no family. Blake was always there for me and I for him. But he's gone now. I have nobody, Clark." Tears pool her eyes once again before rushing down her cheeks. Clark has never felt like an outsider more than he does now. He has always known that he was a bit of an outsider among Alexis, Blake and himself. Alexis and Blake had a special, tight bond connecting them. There were numerous conversations when they had shared inside jokes and had chat about things Clark wasn't aware of while he was around, struggling to catch up with them. The two of them were inseparable. But Blake is gone now and Alexis refuses to let go of him. "I had only him in my life," sobs Alexis.

"Who was I to you then? Who am I to you now?" Clark voices out after a beat of silence. Alexis remains quiet, unable to formulate words to reply to Clark's questions. Noting this, Clark continues, "You're losing yourself, Alexis. But I'm here for you. I always have been."

Alexis, whose face appears morose, stands up. "I have to head back now." She turns on her heel and leaves with the unfinished, crumpled letter in her hand. As she walks away from Clark, he can feel the distance between them stretching further out.

We're chasing after somebody but end up being further apart from that person.