11I used to have dreams, until you came looking for me.
I would sit at my table in that lovely green room of mine, the one you told me matched my eyes perfectly, and plan for the day that I would meet you. Of course, back then I didn't know that I was planning for you. As I would write the words 'true love', sitting in that room, all my mind turned up was a blank canvas. It had yet to be filled with colours, as I sat in that green room, but I could see the borders and skeleton of the beautiful artwork unfurl as I planned for you.
It was a beautiful thing, the rough sketch of that master plan. It was a grand and bright future I had planned for, and I had vowed that day never to let anything get in my way of that ultimate beauty. I vowed to do anything to stop anyone who got in my way; I wanted to see that finished result so bad.
It was also there in that lovely green room that I first saw a name fill the title for that blank canvas. It gave me a burst of hope after having waited for more than two years for you to arrive. The name that filled that title was yours. In my mind's eye I saw the colours of my canvas brighten once more, where before they had been drab and dull from despair and hurt. I knew then you were the one for me, our chance encounter in that lovely green room of mine ingrained in my memories. I added a bit of this scene I loved so much to my art, and even though it was barely completed, I thought my - our - masterpiece was the most beautiful thing created.
There in that lovely green room of mine, where I sat and waited for you day after day, was where you told me it reminded you of me; of my eyes. It was there in that green room that matches my eyes, that I kissed you for saying so. It was our first kiss, made all the lovelier for the fact that there was already a connection between us. The moment was a magical one for me, and still is, having copied it from my mind to the canvas even as we were creating it.
The image flowed so easily even as time felt like it was slowing down. I had felt the urge to look at my watch at that moment, to see if time actually had slown down. I fought that urge down, knowing it would ruin the moment that was so surreal, and instead let myself look at the scene from up above. It was that same scene that I painted on my mind's canvas.
I started our painting one day, in my lovely green room. I kept it covered, however, in the corner - the corner you first made love to me. I looked at it often. I would never let you see it, though, as I didn't want you to know how obsessed I was over you, that I thought about you every waking moment, thinking about my plans and the finished product our painting would look like.
It was there, in that green room, that lovely green room of mine, that I first realized how obsessed I was. It had barely been two months since we met, and already I knew everything there was to know about you, ever the things you had never, could never and would never tell me. It was there in that lovely green room of mine that I would plan all of those 'shopping trips' . . . the ones I never went on, having never planned to go shopping at all. Instead I would watch your apartment from across the road, a smile appearing on my face every time I saw you cross in front of your window.
It was there in that green room of mine that I tho9ught of all the things I had done over the past month. It was there, sitting on my black-covered bed, that I really looked around and saw the reality of what I had become. The clothes that I had kept - you, unknowing - when you stayed over on certain nights, piled neatly in the corner beside the still unfinished canvas of our love. Paintings and photographs of you framed and hung, covering every inch of the walls in my lovely green room.
It was at that moment, in my lovely green room that I had decided to tone myself down, to take a break. I had decided, acknowledging the fact that I was a freak . . . but I was a freak in love; dangerously so, I suppose, now that I look back on it all.
It was in that green room that I phoned you - I barely invited you over anymore for fear of what you would say at seeing your face covering my green walls and a pile of your clothes in the corner. So instead, sitting comfortably on a black chair in my green room, I phoned you and told you I would be going on vacation for a week or so. We exchanged words of love and then I hung up, needing to make arrangements.
Our masterpiece was put on hold for a little while . . .
~ ~ ~
It was that same green room that I returned to a week and a half later. That same green room that you told me matched my eyes; the same green room that I sat in, reviewing what the psychiatrist had told me through my daily half day sessions. I was to take a break from seeing you, but as soon as I stepped into my lovely green room, how could I not?
Your face was plastered everywhere.
So it was there in that lovely green room of mine that I tore every frame down. By the end I was breathing very hard from exertion and nerves, but I didn't care - I had accomplished that next step to overcoming my obsession.
Our masterpiece was starting to paint itself once more within my mind, the colours getting brighter with each frame I placed carefully in a box and put away.
~ ~ ~
It was there in my lovely green room that they found your body days later.
It was there in that lovely green room of mine - the one you told me matched my eyes - that I figured my obsession would never leave me - even if you were dead - and the rest of the town figured I was a maniac.
It was there in that green room that the police found me, my hands wet with your blood.
It was there in that lovely green room of mine that our canvas was torn to shreds, the finished product having never been achieved. All because of you.
It was there in that lovely green room of mine that I realized it was your fault that my dreams were now dead.
My obsession for you had caused you to act rashly, and for me to shoot you because of your rashness.
My obsession for you was what made me try to stop the flow of your blood; to stop you from dying.
My obsession for you was what made me stay that day, even after your heart had stilled and your tormented soul had rested, leaving me here alone.
My obsession for you was what made me get caught, the blood still staining my fingertips.
I used to have dreams before you came looking for me, to tell me it was over. Now the cold grey bars of the rest of my life glint mockingly at me, where the green walls of my lovely room had once been.
I used to have dreams before you came looking for me.
I used to have dreams.