I loved a girl. Sometimes you don’t even question that, once it’s there, you just grasp it with a swallow, no matter how bitter, you’ll still see the smile. I loved her dearly with her long dark brown chestnut hair into two braids, which I imagined her braiding it as I’d dye my hair in the longer mornings. As if it would be the two reflections of mirrors we’d hold, grinning, until they’d break and it would symbolize good luck. I’d imagine her beside me her fingers trailing her braids, maybe even upon my lips, just a small touch. It would be a kiss. I’m sure I’d flee like a burned stone once she’d exit the room, jump as high as I would. To try and reach something else.
“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 look up. I feel my knees touch the grass. My left arm aching dragging me towards the ground. A burning flame in my throat, going down, down, down and reaching my heart as I see blurs, flashes of people hovering above me. One after another they flash their footwear digging into the ground, kicking mud into my face not on purpose.
Never on purpose.
Always on purpose.
I apologize for the delays, I’ve been quite busy, since it’s my last ever year of school.
I sit up and struggle with the fact how much must I do to get a coke from the machine in the hall.
A blow to make the smoke go away.
Read More/Exit, graspTHEsanity
Was that it? Was that the meaning of life?
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.
Basically the word beginning rolls onto the tongue.