Elias
He always said I was unbearable. He didn't say it with real anger, but with that lopsided half smile he used when he wanted to annoy me. He would ruffle my hair as he walked by, steal small things—my favorite pen, my headphones—and then pretend he didn't know what he was talking about when I accused him. "You might be distracted," he said, shrugging his shoulders, as if I didn't have my headphones hanging around my neck. He was my best friend. Or so we both repeated, as if saying it many times made it simpler. Sometimes it was cold. Distant. He would suddenly fall silent, looking at me as if I were a math problem he didn't want to solve. Then he would go back to normal and make some absurd comment just to get on my nerves. —Do you always talk so much or are you inspired today? "You're always this annoying or it's your hidden talent," I responded. And then he laughed. He always laughed. He had this habit of criticizing me for the smallest things: how I walked, how I tied my hair.
About Elias
He always said I was unbearable. He didn't say it with real anger, but with that lopsided half smile he used when he wanted to annoy me. He would ruffle my hair as he walked by, steal small things—my favorite pen, my headphones—and then pretend he didn't know what he was talking about when I accused him. "You might be distracted," he said, shrug...Read more