Poems were a type complex literature that needed one’s deep knowledge for the language. Being able to use words to describe a feeling; vague, as it is.

It wasn’t something people would expect me, Heiwajima Shizuo, to be good at. But, I am, ever since high school. Luckily, no one was able to find out, not even my brother.

But, after that person found out, that’s when my fifteen years started.
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During the first year, I was reckless as I had always been. After getting home from work with Tom, I’ll write him those shitty poems each and every day without falter. Licking those goddamn post stamps made my tongue itchy, sending those cards with my saliva. Heh, I know that it’ll be disgust him, being the freak that he is.

The second year was the same. Reckless. But, I got a little in to it too much that I didn’t even notice my crappy apartment burning, not until I noticed that only the collar of my bartender suit was left. Kasuka was nice enough to buy me a new one, better too, and a frickin’ new set of bartender clothes, as my old ones were burned to ashes.

I calmed down the third year, very proud of getting past the boundaries of literature. Three years of writing those shitty poems aren’t for nothing, y’know.

On the fourth year, Celty found out about it. And, she encouraged me to send it to a magazine; Even telling me that I can change my name just so I agree to it. She apparently had Kasuka into it too. I eventually gave up and sent one.

A week after, Tom told me he read the poem I sent to magazine and asked me why I don’t just be a professional poet; telling me that I didn’t need to worry about him and should just think about being one. I nodded and answered a, “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Tom-san.”

After contemplating on it for a year, and being encouraged by Celty and Kasuka, I decided to agree to Tom’s suggestion and become one; A pro poet. I sent a compilation of my poems and a publishing company made them into books which got popular demand, from what they say. Women from the F1 division [1] always flocked to me, but since they get too noisy, I’d get irritated and snap at them to fuck off. Besides, I already write these shitty love poems for someone else.

But even after 5 years, there was still no reply.

At the sixth year, there wasn’t any bone, any organ of mine that wasn’t broken or damaged. Even so, I continued to write those poems. I was used to having my bones broken anyway; I’m a monster, after all.

On my seventh year, I was completely healed and was finally out of that god-forsaken hospital. How I hated that place. I watched the people from my apartment and thought that I’ll just compare that person into something. An albino rabbit? Can be, but that was way too cute, even for him [2].

The eighth year was no different; I kept on thinking and comparing him to stuff. How about a chess board champion? Nah, too boring. An unstable element [3]? Yeah, that’ll be good. Heh.

Apparently, I had gotten into an accident, one that hit me hard on the head. Even though I couldn’t remember my own name, I still remembered my love for that person. Shinra said he wasn’t sure when my memories will come back, but he assured me that they’ll come back. I just had to wait.

Through the tenth and eleventh year, I kept on writing poems for that person. My memories still not coming back, but even so, my love was enough. Tch, those stupid dramas on TV are getting to me.

The twelfth and thirteenth year was no different than the last two. I just kept on writing and writing.

But, even so, there was still no reply.

On the fourteenth year, I got anxious and became a nervous wreck. I have probably written more than 4,000 poems for that guy. I longed for a response, I wanted to know if the feelings I so fucking tried to put in there reached him.

And finally, on the fifteenth year, my memories returned. I was doing my morning routine and was about to sit on my workspace with a cup of coffee when it all came flooding back. When they had, I slumped to my chair, the cup I was previously holding was now on the ground, shattered and ignored, while realization hit me. Tears poured down my face, tears that I didn’t show when…

When the person I had been sending these letters to, the person I loved and hated at the same time, when… Orihara Izaya, died 15 years ago…

It hurt more than the first time. Thinking and believing that I’ll be able to hold him, talk to him, and maybe even throw a guardrail at him a second time. And, he disappeared, a second time.

These poems I’ve been writing for the last sixteen years, maybe when they stack up so high, they’ll be able to reach you, wherever you might be.

‘Hah, do you even think, you stupid protozoan?’ is what he’ll probably say. Maybe I don’t, but hey, aren’t you stupid too for loving a ‘protozoan’ like me, flea?
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…Ugh, gosh. That was too… angsty? Out of character? LONG? XD
Anyway, ‘A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years’ got me writing this after almost making me cry when I finally decided to watch the frickin’ video last night. And~ Shizuo and Izaya became the victims of it because of a fanfic I read based on ‘Kimi no Shiranai Monogatari’. And, I just LOVE SHIZAYA, not Izuo.

It might be late but… this is an AU (Alternate Universe) story, so~ HEART! <3

[1] – F1 division are females ranging from the age 20-34. XD
[2] – Who do you think he means by ‘him’? The person he’s sending the poems or himself~? You decide~
[3] – An element in the periodic table. XD

P.S.: I might write on the reason as to why Izaya died and why Shizuo started writing the poems even though he tried to hide it all his life.