Information
Amar the Licoricetail
Encanta
Legacy Name: Encanta
The Sweetheart Yaherra
Owner: Tribe
Age: 4 years, 5 months, 2 weeks
Born: October 7th, 2019
Adopted: 4 years, 5 months, 2 weeks ago
Adopted: October 7th, 2019
Statistics
- Level: 269
- Strength: 670
- Defense: 670
- Speed: 670
- Health: 670
- HP: 617/670
- Intelligence: 247
- Books Read: 247
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
profile template (c) helix (get it)
template edited by Tribe with tips from spacemage
story by Tribe
background courtesy of Unsplash user Annie Spratt
What makes it true love?
encantar: to love, nonromantic
amar: to love, romantic
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O sigues adelante o te enredas en arrepentimiento.
Pero, ¿qué pasa si no puedo continuar?
You either move on or nurse your regrets.
But what if I can't move on from him?
¿Nosotros dos? We're just typical flirts. We like each other well enough, but not enough to settle down. We're happier to play around with the attentions of others, even if we're content to come back to each other from time to time.
He's the laidback, easygoing kind type, with a sly, charming humor. I guess you could call him slick... if slick meant winding up for a punchline from a mile away. A real lady killer, that one, if you're into terrible puns.
But deep down, he's a real softie. Despite the playful pretense, there's something genuinely sincere about him--in the way he softens as he listens, in the the way he gently holds me close, in the way he whispers sweet nothings in my ear.
He's not bad looking either; he's got those warm honey-brown eyes and that sweet smile. He might not be the biggest smokeshow, but he's got the cute look going for him.
If I thought it'd work out, maybe I'd be open to something serious. But these flings? They don't last--they aren't meant to.
I don't think it would, so I tell myself that he's just another boy--that we're just friends and, if I were wise, I'd leave it be.
A crush.
Oh, why this one?
A case of temporary feels, I tell myself. When alone, I smile at my foolishness, at this twisted little secret... but, most of all, at my own melodrama.
He said it first.
Those words. Those words that shatter the easygoing, casual feeling of our time together.
I thought I imagined them.
"¿Qué?" Nestled in the crook of his shoulder, I startle and move to sit up. "Did I hear that right?"
"Need me to say it again, princesa?" He gives me that goofy, self-assured grin. "Te amo."
Confusion washes over me, sweeping me out to sea with zero bearings. A lil dumbfounded, I wait for our punch line; when it doesn't come, I dumbfoundedly ask, "¿Asterisco?"
He hesitates for a second--
The lack of confirmation spikes my confusion straight into anxiety. "¿Asterisco?" I ask again, a little more frantic this time.
He smiles at me, equally shy and sweet, as he takes my face into his hands to look straight into my eyes; he meets my eyes readily, unwaveringly. "No, I mean it."
I scoot away from him, shooting him the strangest look as I shake my head in disbelief. "W-what? Since when?"
"I think I've known for maybe a month now?" He tries to laugh it off, but there's a flicker of doubt now. "It's easy to be around you. You feel like home, the good kind of familiar."
"You're... you're being silly." I stare at him warily, guarded.
There's an understanding look in his eyes, but also hurt that he's trying to hide. At that look, there's a prickle of remorse tinging my panic: shit, it's like I kicked a puppy.
I need space. My breath becomes fast, panicky. I lean my head back, staring up at the ceiling. My hands cup the nape of my neck, rubbing slow circles into my skin. I need space to breathe.
I'm fond of him, sure--but I don't know if it's love... I don't think it's love.
I take deep breaths, the exhales shaky but slow. I move to stand up, pull my jacket from the back of the chair to slip back on.
My next words are soft and low. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think it's best for me to go right now."
"Hey, I'm sorry." Now on his feet, he takes a cautious step toward me. His eyes are wide, still processing the situation. "If you need time, space... anything, take what you need. Just... please don't disappear on me. I get that I said something serious, something you weren't prepared to hear, but I need you to know that I don't need you to say it back."
I press my lips together quick, turn away to shut my eyes for a second. A kind of guilt nibbles at edges of my conscience: isn't this what you wanted... why are you running?
I shove down that feeling, slipping out the door and quietly closing it behind me.
He texts me a few nights later--a few nights of chewing on these revelations, these conflicted feelings:
hey, how are you doin?
been kinda worried since you left so quick...
just wanted to check in
been a kinda weird last couple of days tbh
lol guess i should learn to expect the unexpected haha
haha i suppose. life be like that
do you want me to just give you space or???
idk maybe that will change, will let u know if it does
today just gave me a lot to think about ahhh
ah...
yea that's fair
do you like wanna talk about it? all ears if you wanna
it's ok if you don't
idk i think i'm just nervous
maybe it's dumb, but maybe you get it
like we're kinda cut from the same cloth on this
we've both dated around plenty
still feel silly saying this tho lol
i think i'm afraid of tying myself down
like not knowing what else might be out on out there
maybe i just need therapy lmaoooo
sorry for the text wall haha
just kinda dumpin my thoughts here
haha no prob, you're fine
if you gotta get it off your chest, just say it lol
better to be honest bout this kind of thing
i get that feeling
def been there, done that
idk i feel like it faded a lot for me tho
feelings do funny things to your brain ig
aw did i make you catch feelings lmao
lookit me doing funny things to your brain
haha duhhh yea you
you're just so stupid funny beautiful
how offended am i supposed to be haha
as much as you want to, bb
oooof i cringed typing that
anyhow lol english is dumb like that
you're not wrong there
soo this is awk... but do you think you wanna see me still?
guess you know i'm kinda hoping yes but
if it's no, i won't hold it against you
i do really care about you
and i want you to be happy
i think we make each other p happy tho haha
gues what i'm asking is do you want to try to make this work?
i dunno?
i think i wanna try, idk how well it'll go
haha that's ok : )
let's try
if it doesn't work out, so be it lol
Pero no puedo confesar mis sentimientos por ti.
No sabes que eres la luz de mi vida, querido.
But I'm unable to confess my true feelings for you.
You don't know you're the light of my life, dear.
It's a whirlwind kind of romance--except, pardon my bias, better. We know what the other likes, know how to flirt and tease and sweep them off their feet.
He knows better than to buy me flowers; the chocolates face a quick demolishing at my hands instead, the bubble teas even quicker. In quiet moments, he toys with my hair, forming rough braided plaits before laughing and raking them out. He carries me up to bed when I fall asleep on his lap while watching movies, tucking me in with a forehead kiss.
I pick up treats during errands, grab him lunch on his busy workdays at home if I've got the day off. I snuggle up close in quiet moments, murmur silly little affirmations that make us both break out in laughter.
Together, we tag the place up with different colored love note stickies, hide little letters in drawers addressed to the other person. It's so inanely sappy, yet we like this sweet state of affairs.
We spend nights after work cuddling on the couch, talking over our next adventures over mugs of tea and maps on laptop screens: shopping in town, hikes in the countryside, road trips and camping.
With him, there's so much to look forward to.
And the truth is... he starts to feel like home.
Too good to be true.
Every time I think back on what happened, those three years were too good to be true.
I didn't see it coming... no, we didn't see it coming.
It crept in, quiet and insidious.
It started with a stiffness in his hip, right side; one that didn't quite fade as days turned into weeks--from continued strain, we assumed. Maybe from the hikes we were doing, even though they'd never posed such... chronic stress on our joints.
We stayed off our feet to give him time to heal, put our plans on hold. Some days were better than others; we did little dates at home: dressy homemade dinners, movie nights all cuddled up, board games till wee hours.
That stiffness was stubborn, refused to fade. As the joint bulged and swelled, that stiffness turned to a limp--
I sent him to the doctor as soon as we could get an appointment, wound up with anxiety and worry.
He hobbles out to the car, a young man with a grandpa's walk; it's a funky juxtaposition, one that doesn't look quite right.
"Any good news?" I try not to sound too hopeful as he gingerly moves into the passenger side.
He shakes his head, lips pressed tight together. "They want further testing, but I'm sure it's news you don't want to hear."
"... What are they suspecting?" I look at him almost imploringly, hands gripping tight to the steering wheel.
"They told me to sit down for this part, but I suppose you already are." He chuckles darkly to himself. "Cancer. They're thinking cancer. Some form of aggressive bone cancer. They want to do imaging, then biopsy what they find."
I sit there, dumbfounded. "Well... shit, dude."
"Yeah." He sighs, fingers tip-tapping on the car door. "I'm hoping they don't find more bad news. I don't know how much more I can take at this point."
We were hoping that was as bad as it gets, but life was just getting warmed up after that sucker punch.
Fibroblastic osteosarcoma, about as aggressive as they come; regardless of how early or late we caught this, the doctors warn, this was going to be an uphill battle either way. It would be a shame to amputate in such a young man, they say, we'll do what we can to save the joint. The course of action, they advise, is chemo and then surgical excision of the remaining tumor; we can see if he's a hip replacement candidate afterward so we can salvage remaining mobility.
Salvage, I thought bitterly, like he’s a scrapped up wreckage to pick over and rearrange.
The chemo treatment hit him like a goddamn truck.
He often started the day puking his guts out in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet bowl; the anti-nausea meds were hit-or-miss on staving off that sick feeling. The fatigue kept him at home full-time; walking room-to-room could tire him right out.
His hair started falling out a few weeks after he started chemo--lil tufties first, then in these dramatic, ragged shags. He fretted a few days, shaved the rest off.
I cut my hours at work, spent the extra time getting him to his appointments and cooking homemade meals that he'd push around his plate--not out of selfishness, but the treatments were destroying his appetite. Regardless of the bumps in the road, I did my best to make sure he was comfortable, that he had what he needed.
We keep hoping for a good prognosis after each set of scans, after each prying checkup.
It's about a month in when he ties push me away; he says he can try to take this on himself, that he'll let me fly off to greener pastures because I didn't ask to be chained to a cancer patient, a dead man walking. His words, not mine.
But I don't run.
This time... I stay.
So I kiss him on the cheek every day, jokingly remarking: "In sickness and in health, my beloved egg. In it together, right?"
"Of course, darlin'." He'd wanly smile back at me--a little hopeful, but mostly sad. "Love you."
I'd struggle to say it back, opting to wrap him up in a bittersweet bear hug instead. I rawly whisper me encántate to him, but it feels like a paltry half-measure, like a shitty mustered-up way to save face.
"It's okay, it's okay: actions speak louder than words." He'd say, a little teary-eyed. "I know you love me back--and that's enough."
Frankly, I'm not quite sure he convinced himself.
And yet, it all goes to shit.
Metastasis, the docs say. The cancer's spreading; it made its way into his pelvis, his kidneys, his lungs. Prognosis looks grim.
"Shoulda seen the scans--looked like Christmas came early." He laughs darkly, shaking his head. "I lit up all over, like a whole string o' lights."
I giggle to humor him, but it all feels so wrong.
The world feels wrong, like it's been turned upside down and shaken for all the loose change it's worth... so here we were, flapping in the wind, trying to keep our feet on the damn ground.
"How much more time?" I ask, his hand gripping mine.
We know the last several months have been brutal, they say, but it would be optimistic to say a year at most.
Shit.
He chose to stop chemo, put every thought of a happy ending excision out of his head.
"I'm done." He said. "I don't want to feel like shit if all we're doing is buying time."
So he's still on palliative care to manage his symptoms, but--slowly, but surely--hospice care starts to step in supplementally, before becoming part of the daily conversation of our life.
It was a grim reckoning, one we knew was coming.
... We were lucky to get ten months.
At his bedside, I try to stop myself from crying--it's hard to see him like this. He looks small, almost shrunken; the year wore him down, made him gaunt and sickly--a far cry from when I'd fallen for him.
Him. I'd fallen for him; not only his looks, but the person he is.
Over the year, his laughter had gone stark, dry, almost tinged with cynical mocking; things are less funny, he says, when you're running out of time. But he's still patient, still kind and caring--just hardened by the hand he's been dealt.
There was never a reason to leave.
"Vive, querido... por favor." I hold his limp hand in mine, fighting back the tears. "Sigue haciendo recuerdos conmigo, por siempre y para siempre."
Keep making memories with me, forever and always.
It's a silly plea; I know how much he'd suffered through this ordeal, but I can't stop myself. It's selfish of me, but I still want him here by my side--I don't want to be left behind, alone to pick up the pieces.
"I'm so scared--" I whisper, too choked up to voice anything else on my mind.
His fingers, slack and wooden, are still warm in mine, but he's already going, going, going...
The machines break their whirring rhythms, screaming in frantic blares. I barely hear them; for me, the world goes silent.
Shaking my head, I mouth the words that've taken over my thoughts: "I know--I know he's gone."
I wish love could have saved him... But I know it can't. Time ran its course and, now, the hourglass runs empty.
Over him, I whisper futilely, voice trembling,"Era mentira decir que solo me encantas." I hesitate for a second, a quiet confession spilling over."
"Te amo."
"Te amo demasiado."
I love you.
I love you too much.
Through the hiccuping gasps, I choke back the sobs, a painful pit forming in my throat.
I hope he knew I loved him.
Tu ausencia es un agujero doloroso en mi corazón.
Te extraño tanto, querido... Desearía tener más tiempo juntos.
Your absence is a painful hole in my heart.
I miss you so much, love... I wish we had more time together...
Pet Treasure
Winsome Rogue Rebellious Locks
Just Some Boy Headphones
Amiable Love Potion
Sweetheart Cappuccino
Romantic Postcard
Love Words
Box of Love Letters
Baby Lovebird Beanbag
Chibi Heart Plushie
Diluted Love Bug Dose
Sweetheart Potion
Romantic Box of Macarons
Blossoming Love Bath Bomb
Pink Passion
What is Love?
Bitten Lovey Sugar Cookie
Long-Tailed Kitty Plushie
I Love You Puppy
I Love You Montre Plushie
Sweet Glompkitty Plushies
Passion Eros Wings
A Single Rose
Romantic Rose
True Love
Shattered Hourglass
Deaths Kiss
Calavera Bride Single Red Rose
Calavera Bride Mended Heart
Engraved Heart Lock
Dead Survival Small Pale Roses Cake
Delish Forever Faded Photograph
Pure Love Letter