Chapter 17

Camilo Madrigal, ever so famous for his talent in entertaining the crowds, is a true actor indeed. His jokes and natural charm truly capture the hearts of the people in town, shapeshifting here and there, impersonating people left and right. My, what a people pleaser.

Camilo Madrigal, a teen who prioritizes others more than his own, a young boy who loves his family more than his entire being despite his self-eccentric demeanor he likes to portray.

Portray, what does he like to portray himself to others? Why of course the picture-perfect version of himself, obviously. Where his smile is never changing, only his very being. Where his insecurities are non-existent, completely comfortable in his own skin.

"You truly remind me of the moon," the wind mirthfully frolicking amongst the cold evening, lightly caressing brown curly locks as if agreeing with his thoughts. "So simple yet so beautiful."

With a sigh, he walked and walked mindlessly throughout Encanto's dimly illuminated street. Sneaking out of the Casita at night to take a walk is certainly not a good idea for a young teen such as himself.

Longing, it's such an annoying emotion, Camilo would like to bitterly mention. For he can do absolutely nothing about it, only to wallow-drown in such a feeling. He oh so wished that fate would miraculously let him see her, but alas, lady luck can only give him so much.

"It's fine, she agreed to spend New Year's with me. I'll, I'll tell her for sure." Shoving his hands on his front pocket, briefly ceasing his steps. "But what if she doesn't feel the same way?" He murmured, the ugly feeling of doubt swirled within him, slowly but surely consuming his very being.

A myriad of what-ifs and maybe's filled his mind like a turbulent gust of storm, a hurricane in the making.

"But what if she meant that as a friend, and nothing more?" He began pacing in a circle, anxious thoughts circling his brain like a vulture on a corpse. "What if she never wanted to be something more? She said it's too troublesome, didn't she?"

But her touch, her words, her actions said otherwise. It confuses him, it confuses him greatly,

"You made me turn into a huge mess of emotions."

"God, even if you liked me back, I would've wished you find someone better than- than this, this huge mess that's ."

He bit his lower lip in an attempt to stop more negative thoughts flowing through his weary mind, His heart in denial that he was deserving of it, deserving of all of this, deserving of . He didn't even do anything! He just shapeshifted into her and called her beautiful, then suddenly they're almost inseparable.

Confusion, life is certainly filled with it, Questions left unanswered by life as if mocking us in our ignorance and stupidity, pushing us to the ground as they laugh at us in chorus.

"I know I don't deserve you, but it hurts to imagine you being happy with someone who isn't me."

Selfishness, to be selfish is to be concerned excessively or exclusively with oneself. Selfishness is a sneaky little thing, it comes in many forms -from self-indulgence to self-pity to self-righteousness.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry that you choose to stick with someone as undeserving as I."

Insecurity is such a mischievous creature, quite a menace. It looms over behind you, trailing your back with each step you take, its fingers caressing your face as it whispers sugar-coated lies with sprinkled words of discouragement while you stare at yourself in the mirror.

Little did the boy know, that she is more than willing to see every part of him, even the worst parts of him, the worst parts of him. For that is what love is, to be true, to be understanding, to have patience.

"The sky looks wonderful tonight," Eyes twinkled in wonderment as the girl stood at her backyard, her usual paintbrush, and canvas at hand. "it reminds me of a certain someone in mind."

Paint dripped down her precious brush as she simply stared at her somewhat blank canvas; her mind drawing to a blank as she couldn't think of anything to draw. "You fill my head with images you, it's getting relatively infuriating as the days come and go."

She envisioned herself being this hermit that lives on the outskirts of Encanto, selling some of her art just to get by. Never in her wildest dreams that a chance encounter () would lead to something so, so remarkable, so exhilarating. Gone were her thoughts of her life spending the rest of her lonesome days by herself, instead it was replaced with a life spent with him, with her friends, with her family.

"I truly owe you a lot, Camilo." Flicking petite hands as she finally drew in her canvas, now knowing what to draw.

"My muse." She breathes.

Realization, an epiphany- a sudden revelation. A feeling of which you and I are somewhat familiar with, that Eureka moment that you felt when you finally know the answer to a certain riddle or crossword puzzle. Yeah, that.

Stars twinkle from up above, they sparkle, they glimmer in delight as they watched the two from above. They sang, unfazed with the events unfolding, they've seen how this story goes, after all.

"One day I'll find the right words to say to you, until then, I'll make myself to be deserving to stand next to you." He declared not to her but himself, for he already knew she sees him as someone great.

He simply wishes to live up to the image she had meticulously curated in her mind.

"One day."

"I gave my heart on a silver platter, my heart, who's been broken, and forced itself to mend, all for you to hold. You ought to care for it well, my love." She spoke, it was from her grandmother's menagerie of romance books she had religiously collected from her time. Boredom had taken its toll on the teen to have resorted to reading a myriad of literary romantic fiction.

Its texts speak of such unrealistic occurrences of things such as the man must've had god-like eyesight to have seen the love of his life in that sea of people.

The most infuriating thing she had possibly read is the inaccurate descriptions of a woman written by a man, an uneducated, inexperienced man.

But she digresses, romance books aided her in comprehending some of the emotions she had felt, such as jealousy, longing, and most importantly, . It was surprisingly helpful. Despite its, uhm -colorful imaginations that can be downright unrealistic.

The cold wind tickled dewy skin as she sat outside, relishing underneath the evening light. The night deserves to be appreciated sometimes, after all.

"I hope you're sleeping well, ." Hands skillfully painted the canvas, she drew another picture of him. "If you're not, then I hope you eventually rest your weary head and free yourself from whatever thoughts that plauge you." She spoke, lamp flickering and clinging to its last ends of its life, the oil is running out.

"I agree, . Such a big cliché, an overused trope. But I can't help but love it either way." she spoke, cleaning and picking up her things as she prepared to retire for the night.

"I can't help but love him either way."