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The Little Naive Boy.
The Little Naive Boy.
There was once a boy who believed he had not a single ability other than making people around him happy. He always put their needs before others, and cared so little about himself he grew use to the loneliness of his pathetic little life.
There was one girl who he loved more than anything, and wished nothing more than for her to have the most happiest and comfortable life possible. While it was true that the girl loved him back, he knew deep down that the girl would probably never love him the same as he. He yearned to be with her, holding her when she was sick, watching over her while she slept, always able to be there for her.
He and the girl soon grew into a man and woman. Other men fought for her hand, while the man, did nothing but hope the woman to be happy, jealous of the other men. Often they wouyld fail, but more and more came, each more better than the last.
It hurt the man to watch the woman be with them, but was secretly happy. She was always smiling with them, unlike him, whom she had grown use too, she rarely smiled in his presence anymore, but always remarked her enjoyment in his presence.
The man perhaps thought he was in the wrong to think that he could be with her, given how little he was worth, he thought about himself. So he looked for others to help. One such woman was not terribly smart of pretty, but he saw that she needed help, and so, without a though, he helped. This woman soon grew to like the man, and apparently wished for soemthing more. The man refused, because deep down inside, he still loved the lady he had grown up with.
Months passed and this new woman pushed and begged, saying to the man that it would help her. The man's resolve began to waver and in the dead of a summer night gave up and allowed this woman to take what she so desired.
Unknowning to this woman, the man hated the act, and felt so dirty and shamed he spoke not a word for days. Dirty and worthless his mind spoke to him, not worth the effort are you? No one had cared that his face held not a smile, that his walk had become stale.
This woman spoke not to him for several weeks until apparently she had desired him again. He refused at first. But giving into that hateful voice, "Worthless, dirty, not worth the effort" He allowed the woman to bed with him again. Over and over he allowed this voice and the woman's worthless begging to rule him. He had lost the will to live it seemed.
His friend never really took notice in this change in him, her own battles and life had made her distant to him. He still loved her, he was sure of that, for the ache to make her happy was there. But the voice always made him turn away now. "Worthless of her love, too dirty to touch her, not worth the effort to love" He believed the voice, but he wished her happiness all the same. Perhaps that was what brought him back.
The man one day refused and backed away from this woman, he had finally stood up to her and that voice. While he hated what she had done to him, re could not hate her for it. Forgiving her, he left, she never understood that she had wronged him, it was simply her way of life.
The man hoped to try and bridge the gap between his friend. Perhaps see if maybe he was wrong, maybe he COULD be able to love her in the way she needed.
A new suitor had arrived, though. He was everything she wanted. The man tried to be reasonable, but the jealous part of him grew. He watched the suitor do all he wished he could do, he watched him take better care of her than even at his best could possibly hope to.
"He knew," the voice added nastily, "that he could never ever hope to compete with someone like that." She was so happy, and it pleased him that she was, but yet a huge part of him cried out. Had he hoped too much? Had he doen wrong by loving his friend so? She said to him one day that the suitor had asked for her to become his, and she had came ot her friend for advise. He was happy by her smile and her hope he saw, but somehow, despite his best effort a tear rolled down his cheek. She drew back at this sight.
"If you truly loved me, you would want me happy" His friend said to him, and he struck dumb by this accusation only watched as she kept pushing about he didn;t truly love her. Did she believe that?
But what worried him now was that voice again. "It's true" it rasped "Your to worhtless to love! To dirty to touch, not worth the effort to be with." He grew cold. Had he truly come this far for nothing? Had he been overzealous and though more than there was? The woman tried to make it seem that he had a chance, perhaps to cheer him up, but the man knew they were hollow words. She wanted this man and her to last, she wanted him to be there for her as she accepted. His usefulness was failing, his hope fading.
Leaving him for the night to think it over, he thought over everything. He choose quickly, but trying to tell his rebellous heart. He would be a friend. He would allow her, her happiness, he never would dare impead it, given it was his only true wish he had given himself in his years. If everything worked out, she would be happy, his wish would come true. He would be very sad. But he would let her go. He knew he would cry and seeing them together will hurt him beyond belief, but he knew that he would be second best for the rest of his life.
"You go with him" He recited to himself, "Be happy." He would tell her that. His best act of love, truly all he had left, was to let her free.