Looking A Frame

Small star scribblings at the top. God, even the signature looks like it's got a sweet side to it. I may have lost my mind over compliments of the scribbles, but if you're in my position, I can assure you it's perfectly natural.

'To shy Bryan Stewart, hopefully we'll see you in person.

From Joshua schaeffer.'

"Joshua... Schaeffer."

I spell out every word of a name that's beautifully painted under a signature. So blondie's name is Joshua? What a perfect name for him. Sweet and bright. Without realizing it, a broad smile was realized. The muscles of my face are attracted, making the cheekbones pop out. Just looking at what he wrote in his name makes me look like a crazy. The name is too pretty, which leaves me quite confused as to what to call what to expect when we meet again.

Joshua? Jojo? Shua? Sweetheart?

Hey, wake up! Clear that brain, Bryan.

Who are you to call someone sweetheart?

The white paper in my possession is now worth more than anything in this house. Which means I have to keep it from breaking, let alone losing it. This is the only thing that connects me to him.

Destiny sheet.

I assume so.

If a common thread is known as a symbol of the destiny that unites two people, I have this piece of paper that bears this signature. It's more real and I could use it as a good luck charm.

Sometimes things that don't make sense become really realistic when it comes to love.

Because, to be honest, I didn't really believe in prophecy or superstition, before that. Mystical nonsense that can't be explained by research, I used to be that kind of person. I also used to call Lucas the picking boy because he was the most different color in the family, before I learned that his real father was dead and that the man I'd been seeing was his stepfather.

Well, change is going pretty well for life.

My mindset was beginning to change, the notion that everything that happened just happened is no longer the same. There are no coincidences, everything goes in their destiny.

Something valuable should be treated extra carefully don't you think?

So I decided to place this signature sheet on an empty frame. I think I have one frame that has long since been left dusty, not in it. Because, to be honest, I'm not the typical narcissistic enough to put my own face in the room. There's only one sports sports poster and two superhero movie posters; Deadpool and ironman decorate the bone white walls. It was boring, but my eyes were used to the sight that Lucas thought was boring. The fuzzy-brows are always commenting on people's lives.

"Where is it?"

The bathing was practically pointless now that I had covered up some of my body with dust when I was unpacking old stuff again. While the attic may have more dust than most houses, it is getting dirtier with so many cobwebs attached to the interior. I'm too lazy to keep this place clean just once a few months, if there's anything too urgent. As now, when having to unpack cartons overlaid with thick dust in search of an unused frame,

"Cough! Couugh!!"

The thick cloth covering part of my face turned out to be futile, the thick dust could still crawl in and clog my breath. Makes the throat dry and itch. This is a bad idea, I should have been down from the attic before I even set foot on the wooden floor with thick dust and termite-eaten wood spots. But this foolish desire did not allow me to give up immediately. No stopping till you find an empty frame.

I don't know how long it's been up here, that little window on the upper wall has kept the sky dark. I didn't bring my watch or my phone up here, just to my credit, it's probably enough for the night to rest.

Which means the frame search has to stop right now. Just before I redecorated, put the things I had unloaded a little while ago, the corner of my eye noticed something familiar. In the light of a dimly yellow light, I could see it clinging to the fingers of old books on an old shelf with no bulkhead. The black wood sides made it difficult to search. But I do recognize an object of considerable importance.

Exactly as expected, it was a glass frame with a black wooden edge. Unfortunately, this frame is not empty. There's a photograph inside. Portrait of two boys sitting on the sand, forming a brownish sand resembling a building. But I couldn't see clearly the face there, the thick dust clinging to the surface of the glass.

It doesn't matter, it just takes a few strokes of a wet rag and voila... the glass frame will be shiny as new.

I came down from the attic without turning off that little yellow light up there, it was becoming a habit. The process came down a little harder than it was when I was riding it, my right hand was holding on to the wooden ladder while the other hand held tight to the frame.

As soon as I got downstairs, I pushed the wooden ladder up, forcing it into the attic and then closing the attic door. Everything is connected. Like an airplane door that leads down a staircase.

The dust tracks became more obvious under the bright lights. It makes me stare with disgust at my own body, no matter how many times I lay my light claps to get the dust off my shirt, it's all useless. It takes a shower to wash my body from the stubborn dust.

It's a lot of work, but I figure if I can't even sleep sitting around without cleaning myself up first. Especially when the room gets dirty because this little dust could fall off every time I move.

Inevitably, I would rather take two showers than cause all the mayhem caused by the wretched dust. This time it's not cold water anymore, I don't want to risk throwing cold water at the end of the night. Warm water is also more suitable for a good night's sleep.

Yeah, you can say that I'm not a man of my word. A moment ago, saying that there was no need for warm water to bathe, but now it is filling the bathtube with warm water. Well, I wouldn't mind sticking around instead of ending up feverish all night from desperate showers in cold water.