Sweetheart Feli
They can vaguely remember the clouds of chalk dust that made them sneeze and the lumpy porridge the boys in their ward would compare to disgusting things. They do not remember their parents. Their parents were names on a form; one hinted at by officials that they were never allowed to see.
After almost 80 years, these are the only memories they have not fully lost to the time slip.
No person looking on them would believe their true age. They have the eye-pleasing physique of a man of twenty who spends no small amount of time at the gym, though their choices in clothing just as often give them the appearance of a beautiful woman. Gender is irrelevant. The past is immaterial. They cannot even recall their birth name. They always introduce themselves as Milan. They've no notion why, they just like the sound of the word.
They live in a house near the city but far enough outside the packed suburbs to maintain the ruse that multiple generations of their family have called the place home. Work is easier. They change jobs every few years just to be safe, holding positions that one does not seek to make a career from. People do not pay great attention to small details. Allow enough time to pass and you can return to the window as a bank teller or the checkout line and neither your customers nor the latest temporary manager will remember your face.
They have only one goal that drives them not to become a statue of flesh. Milan is constantly on the search for someone to love.
They are not biased. Their lover of the decade can be man or woman, tall or short, slender or curvy. They tend to attract young lovers though there have been a few that sport strands of gray.
Milan gives their whole heart to their current partner, desperate for another human being that will find in them what they cannot find themselves. They will never abandon or drive away one they are in love with though they do not hold back those that sense their secret after a few years. They make it a point to scan the newspaper column, weeping bitterly at the news of an old love who has died.
More than anything else, they wish it was possible for just one lover to stumble upon this curse of youth they never sought, wishing for the triumph of a heart.
|| Story by 
Pureflower ||
