“Do you feel like Christmas, Bo?” He grinned at me as I felt his hand go warmer and I just felt colder despite the fact that the wind was long gone. The lights seemed to lack the feeling of easiness they held and how they lured me and a distant sharp trace now held in Mason’s eyes. I hardened the grip on the red head’s fingers as my other arm hugged my body in a failing attempt to warm myself.

I didn’t feel like Christmas at all.

He went through the exit door with me, his fingers warming, the snow raising and failing with his mood changes. His fingers trailed circles onto my palm leaving a circulating print that iced my blood as if he was a walking icicle when he wasn’t.

“You s-said-“

The words were stuck on my throat as well as the snowflakes which never melted forming a snowman out of me, unlike Mason who was barely covered. He shook off the snowflakes off my hair, watching me closely. He raised his fingers and I felt a stone up in my throat. His teal eyes focused on the nude pink steak in my hair. He twirled it for a while, pulling my hat further onto my head, covering the stripe from his view. I couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or proud that he caught a glimpse of a secret I held.

Exit. read more. graspTHEsanity.

001

I’d wake up to see him there, curled besides me his eyes always opened. Marcie never said a word, never greeted him and neither did Mason. I wondered as I’d see Marcie look past him one point I swore I could see her hand going past the dyed red head and he looked at me horrified as if I’d seen it then he’d just sit down on the floor, looking up, but avoiding my gaze. He’d follow me around sometimes never saying anything but then I never asked him to say anything as his hand would feel lighter.

I never asked him anything because I knew he’d follow me, helping me cheat on tests as something heavy hung in the air reminding of some upcoming storm which seemed nowhere to be seen but just felt like Mason.

-

Exit. Chapter 21. -read more

I sit up and struggle with the fact how much must I do to get a coke from the machine in the hall.

1. Put my Converse on.
2. Grab my wallet or rather one coin, but that still requires my wallet, search of luggage and opening it, as the locks would be empty and sour.
3. Find the key, which I threw as I walked in, most likely behind the night table.
4. Open the door.
5. Greet or smile any recognizable face, but prevent conversations by my muting monster, called my iPod, perhaps give out a few nods, if the person actually deserves it or is notable in making myself invisible. But then invisible is such a not so nice word, because people see me, I just don’t want them to fiddle with me that much, now that my single thing is now like a black pearl, as everyone has someone to snog with.
6. Walk on.
7. Wait in the line for whatsoever reason that the machine is always at popular demand as if a normal teenage girl needs a coke, chips or anything else every second of her existence which is mostly to the never breaking the circle of life factor, I hope she’ll get mutated babies then.
8.Pray, yes, pray that I won’t bump into Graham.
9.Pray, that I won’t blush or take out a headphone to find out how deep his voice is.
10.Pray, that I won’t find myself in a pointless dialog to find that his taste in music is rubbish and when I’d mention that Exit Music changed my life he’d just say who.
11.Pray, that it won’t depress me.
12.Pray, knowing that it will, as in my head we have already been to three concerts with that song in the playlist.
13.Pray, that he won’t find my Jonny Greenwood worship weird.
14.Pray, even knowing that he will.
15. Pray, that he’d fuck Jonny Greenwood.
16.Pray, that he won’t find me amazingly weird and not modern.
167.Pray, that he won’t just shrug and walk away

readMO+(r)E/Exit//GRASPTHEsANITY

A blow to make the smoke go away.

A tight dress, revealing the curves, which I apparently do not have and constant biting lips, which are heavily painted red. My hair is down, my face looking like a mannequin, trying to fake what an ideal female should look like.

It reminds some sort of gangster film with both us ending either with a passionate kiss as the credits would roll or either one of us dead, as the other holds the breathless body, eyes full of that thing which makes actors cry.

Read More/Exit, graspTHEsanity

I meet him again tomorrow, it’s not some retarded firework explosion which people describe and the butterflies are long eaten, I just stare and that is be the feeling, with bigger expectations and my cheeks hint that. He pretends to look away and I hope that my senses are telling me the truth. That it is some mutual shyness with blabbering buttons in the middle. I try to force out a smile, knowing that I had no intentions to make this platonic feeling into something else. It’s just mutual staring that would result in orgasm, maybe. I wouldn’t wake, I’d fall.

C:\Read-more\graspthesanity\exit\chapter-1

Basically the word beginning rolls onto the tongue.

I can chew it, even if it’s too far away, but if I’d know where it would be tomorrow, would it be faded and fucked?

Basically, it started kind of cheerful, at least that’s what I colour it now, because you can flirt with the memories easily. I had no idea why. I lunch myself further, watching the snowflakes fall, pulling my sleeve up to see all the scribbles eating my arm. I press my index finger trailing several drawn stars which seemed to be glued together by my pen, as I should have sprinkled them with glitter, as I kiss the marks. I pull the sleeve down, feeling as if the several scattered people on the streets were invading my privacy. I wish I could freeze time and walk calmly past all of them, as their faces would be frozen describing what exactly were they and how many feelings they had killed. I tugged on the sleeve, making in longer that I nearly fell on my fingertips, as I traced the wool outline, watching a few talk via a phone CONTINUE