So um, this is for the contest of seller_of_dreams and I uh kinda got it some days late... hope that's still ok (i may or may not have forgotten about this contest for some weeks...)

Even if it isn't, to whoever reads that: enjoy :)

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, not wanting to look at the mirror in front of her so she could ignore the mascara that was now ruined by her earlier tears. She had been crying all afternoon, head in her pillow, trying to wash away all the things that were keeping her awake at night, wishing that she could just forget about her life and start from zero. But she knew that wasn't possible, so instead she just cried all her worries away, as if the tears could help her feel better, which they didn't.

It had taken her a whole hour to dry her eyes up and decide to look up at the mirror in front of her, a move she immediately regretted. What the mirror showed her was not what she wanted, it was not what she had hoped for, but, of course, she knew miracles just didn't happen, and therefore when she saw her messed up face for the hundredth time in her life, her brown hair trying to escape from her head, her face all black due to all her mascara and tears, her forehead with grains the tears hadn't made disappear and her eyes pleading her reflection to look away, she couldn't help but wish miracles were real, and that all her crying could have, at least, helped her with her face. But instead, all it did was make her even more ugly.

She glared at her reflection. Even since she was young, she had always hated mirrors. She thought of them as the inevitable proof that she was who she was, that she had to be there, that she couldn't run away from what her mother and father had made her.

For what felt like eternity, she had hated reality. She had always loved to go off sometimes, think about what she could be in another world, and imagine what she would do if she wasn't trapped in this mess of a life she had, even if it wasn't as bad as she believed it to be. She had dreamed of running away, starting again in another place, forgetting about all her past experiences, having the opportunity to start again, finally being able to understand the quote 'the story of your life never starts at the beginning'.

But when, after years of just wishing and dreaming, the opportunity had come in the looks of a black haired boy, she had been too scared to start again, and now she was facing the consequences of her own actions, which meant taking crying as a hobby, since it seemed to be the only thing she was good at, just crying her problems away.

And now she was looking at the mirror, thinking she had recovered from the tears, when she saw the shadow of a reflection behind her, the past shadow of this good looking boy, black hair and black eyes, and this smile that represented all her chances to start again a new life, and then she remembered the way she had wasted this opportunity, and she couldn't help but letting a tiny tear fall down her cheeks, and soon she was fully sobbing again, and she tried to push reality away, but reality kept pushing her back in.

***********

He stared at the ceiling, repeating time and time again the promise he had been keeping as long as he could remember, and the one that he had already broken a hundred times.

I will not cry.

He knew he should know better than that. It had already been a month since then, and he still couldn't recover. He had spent thirty days just doing nothing, staring at the ceiling, eating something and sleeping, constantly repeating the four words on his head.

I will not cry.

No matter how many times he had said them, in a whisper, shouting or just in a thought, he knew he'll always end up crying, and he felt stupid for it. He had promised himself that he would never be this dependent on someone, and yet there he was, crying again over the shadow of a memory that kept haunting him. And that memory represented everything he didn't want.

The many times that he had planned on this moment, not knowing how to bring the topic up, and then expecting all types of reactions from her. He knew it was all she wanted, he knew there was nothing else she would have dreamed of. And therefore the shock of her answer, or better said the unspoken reality, broke his heart time and time again.

I will not cry.

It didn't seem to work, and he knew exactly whose fault it was.

Most of the boys at his age, being as stupid as he claimeed them to be, would be blamig her for running away while holding back tears when he had suggested the solution to all of her problems. But him, he wasn't like most of the boys. He, who had experienced what he had, loved what he could and lost all he had, knew better than to blame the poor brown haired girl for being scared of reality. Because reality, and only reality, was what he blamed for that night's events. And for him it was his worst nightmare, for reality was cruel and unloving, and it was what had made him break his promise once more, since he couldn't avoid crying again just at the thought of it.

I will not cry.

Now, the sentence had become meaningless, as if it was only a melody to help him sleep, and he was not obeying his own orders. He had to cry, he needed to cry, he wanted to cry. He wanted to cry all his tears away until he had no more water in him and he could rest in peace, forgetting all that he had been through, forgetting the girl he was crying for, forgetting he hadn't moved in days because of her, forgetting the opportunity she had refused, forgetting his promise not to cry.

He turned around, facing his bed and breaking, once again, the advice, or more like prayer, his mind was sending him. I will not cry. The tears that were wetting his pillow meant nothing to him, the water he was wasting meant nothing to him. I will not cry. He hugged his face with all his power, wishing to just take it off, as if it'd help in some way, although he knew it wouldn't. I will not cry. He was mentally cursing himself for being so weak, for crying over the past, for keeping on repeating these words that now meant nothing to him. I will not cry. This promise was now disappearing, like a fading melody that was being absorbed by the sleepy ears of a little baby. I will not cry. It was pointless, meaningless and senseless.

I will not cry.

That was it.

He suddenly got up, finally letting all his tears fall down while his body followed him and started heading towards the door.

He had somehow realized that he didn't care anymore. It had been a month already, and he didn't care. He didn't care if she didn't want to see him, he didn't care if they were both scared by a thing they could not defeat. He didn't care if it was cold outside and he didn't wear a jacket, he didn't care about all the faces staring at his wet cheeks. He didn't care that he hadn't gone out of his house for a month and that the only road he could remember was the one leading to her doorstep. He didn't care anymore about all the tears that were rolling down his cheeks, he did not care anymore of that stupid promise that has been torturing him over the past month, he didn't care about anything but making his way downtown to her.

And what if I cry?

***********

Her bed was now as wet as if she had thrown a bucket of water over it. She had cried for another hour, not knowing if time flew fast or slow, not knowing anything anymore.

The only thing she knew, that she was sorry.

She had been sorry since the second she ran off, and every second that passed she had been sorry for not being sorry before. She had spent a full month just crying and being sorry for a thing she could not go back to, and for the fear of going ahead instead.

But she knew sorry wasn't enough.

She just wished she had the guts to get up and tell him that she was sorry, and to tell him that she needed him, for when she was not with him the only thing her body could do was to cry, and to cry her heart off.

And she knew it was all her fault, and that he had nothing to do with that. She also knew, from the moment she had abandoned him, that she was, in fact, the only thing keeping him in town, and that he probably was already miles away, not knowing if he had to forgive her or not, not knowing how sorry she felt, not knowing that all her dreams, or more like nightmares, were of that night, that one cold night that had ruined all hope on him and all confidence on her.

She knew she had to stop, she knew she needed to stop. She wished she could stop everything. She wanted to stop crying, she wanted to stop hating, she wanted to stop regretting, she wanted to stop feeling, she wanted to stop caring. But she knew that wasn't going to change anything. She just needed a change, she thought, a thing that could make her climb the first step to start being herself again, and not the crying girl that had taken care of her.

She looked again in the mirror, pleading herself not to start crying again. Her reflection was the same from sixty minutes ago, if not worse. She still had the wet cheeks, the messed up makeup and the hateful hair. And for the first time in thirty hard days, she analysed herself better and not only her face superficially.

She realized, from staring at her reflection's eyes, that she really was not okay. She realized that she had been treating herself like trash since that night, eating the fewest and sleeping the less. She noticed she was desperate, lonely and broken. And she noticed, in a seriously sad thought, that she really needed that first step that would help her get better.

And then, from staring at those black eyes of her again, she knew exactly what the first step was, but she knew she was too late and that he would already be countries away from there.

Still, she realized, she needed to see it with her eyes, to know one hundred percent sure that he wasn't there, before being able to help herself. She realized, in her last second of dry eyes, that she needed him. And she started crying again. But this time, she knew she mustn't give all that tears away, nor trying to push them back. She knew she had to cry, but she also knew she had to move. And she did.

She opened the door of the apartment, and not caring about her wet face, nor the cold air that was just hitting her, she started running in a new need to go and see it. To see him.

She made her way downtown, not wanting, for the first time in a month, to forget about all the memories with him that she had in that one same road that led to his home, and so she pulled her tears away and looked at the street in front of her for the first time.

And she saw him.

And he saw her.

And just like in a movie, time froze outside of their gazes.

She looked into his black eyes and he looked at hers. He started to run. She started to run. And then they met.

She hugged him with all her power, embracing all of him that had been missing in her for thirty days. He threw his arms around her, surrounding her body as if their lives depended on it. She cried on his shoulder, mumbling a lot of 'I'm sorry's and holding him tight. He cried on her arm, nodding slowly in the mutual agreement that they had come to without words. He had understood, only with a hold tight, how sorry she was and how much she had missed him. She had known, only with that embrace, how broken he had felt and how he didn't blame her for what had happened. And they had agreed, only in one hug, that they loved each other more than reality would ever show or allow.

And that hug, that embrace, that demonstration of love, was the first step she needed and the promise he wanted, and the beginning of a new life for both.

A life of happiness, a life of affect, a life of new hopes and a life of new chances. But soon, as they say 'old fears still remain', they both knew that when they looked in the mirror, it would show a couple, a happy couple, but living in that world, in that reality they both hated that much.

And the thought of living in that world kept chasing them, but, although they tried to ignore it, it was a known fact, and the only fact that was capable of ruining their happiness.

"Can't we" she whispered in his ear, while she hugged him, "Can't we just run away from it?"

The boy shook his head onto her shoulder and sighed, holding back a tear they both were trying not to let fall.
"God knows we've tried" He whispered, holding her more tight as if he could, just in one hug, make them both fly away from reality, even if it was only for a second.

The girl closed her eyes, breathing in and then sighing. She wished he could do that, she wished he could just make reality disappear, but for now, they could only help each other not to fall again in that ocean that reality represents, and hope that one day the danger of falling in was gone and that it'd have left them with only the happy thought of having each other by their side.

But that would never happen, because even if it was reality that made their days fall apart, it was also reality that kept pushing them back together.

**********

Oh my gods. Umm, I actually wrote that at midnight while I was having a heartbreak over a relationship I never had, and I never thought I would show it to anyone, but my dad asked me if he could read some of my work and I showed him that one, and I dunno, he gave me the confidence to publish it and (never thought I would) put it in a contest. So, um, whoever read that, thank you very much :)