Saturday, July 23

She watches, half-interested as the police car swerves about the corner, leaving a slight trail of translucent smoke in its wake. His unwavering stare disappears from sight, and she closes her burning eyes, shaking his image from her mind. The choking smoke fades as the dials on the clock speed backwards.

He's thirteen, and smiling nervously at no one in particular. A slender girl with long plaits meets his gaze scornfully, and a spark jumps between their eyes. She tilts her head slightly, challenging him. His edginess fades and he nods slightly, accepting her challenge. She flings her head up arrogantly and sweeps past gracefully. He watches intently as she walks away.

He's fifteen, and listlessly kicking a football around on a grass patch. A sudden prickling down his spine causes him to glance upwards quickly, just in time to see her shadow stepping back hurriedly from the window. The blinds fall with a crash, and then lie completely still. There is nothing to betray her presence. The ball lands in the gutter. He swears.

He's seventeen, and tapping his foot impatiently, standing in line at the supermarket. The sweet floral top notes of her eau de toilette waft over him, and he shivers as if a sudden draught has swept in. She smiles knowingly, then bats an eyelid teasingly as he stumbles past. He never seems to have any balance around her, but he is certain that it is directly related to bodily chemical reactions to her intoxicating scent.

He's nineteen, and has eyes fixed on her dancing the night away at the class reunion. She's flung her arms expansively around her date's neck, and has not objected to the possessive hand at the small of her back all evening. He stares morosely as they float gracefully about the room, her every step as light as a feather. She twirls, catching his gaze for a moment, and he drowns in the dark pools of her eyes. But she twirls back into the other's arms, and he swallows the rising heartbeat in his throat, the way he's been ignoring his date's hand at the crook of his elbow. His eyes harden as her lilting laughter trickles across the room, like a mirthful brook over pebbles.

He's twenty-one, and sitting upright as straight as a rod on the wooden pew. The hard edge bites relentlessly into his leg, but he barely feels the discomfort. The heavy doors swing open, and the golden morning sunlight pours in, illuminating her white veil like a halo, but shadowing her face. He cannot read her expression and doesn't dare guess her mind. He stares hungrily at her white-clothed figure at she makes her delicate way down the long aisle towards him. She's nearing him - now only a step away - she's reached him. His lips fall open, but she walks past him and doesn't see him fire the fatal shot at her fiance. When she turns, dazed, all she sees is the mocking challenge shining in his triumphant eyes. She collapses by the corpse of her late fiance, barely noticing the spreading pool of blood on her pristine white gown. The guests gasp as they watch a crimson heart form around the zigzag embroidery down the side of the creamy silk. She feels only the ghost of his clasp around her trembling wrist, the remembrance of five fingers like fiery veins pressing against her pulse. She shivers uncontrollably at the memory of his whispering breath against the sensitive hairs on her neck, and finally succumbs reluctantly to the socially accepted release of unconsciousness.

She watches the dials click resolutely back into place, and forces her eyes open. She is alone on the street, and the sound of her high heels hitting the loose pavement tiles echoes faintly between empty buildings. She finally notices the blood stains on her ruined gown, and a tiny bitter smile twists her lips at the sight of the broken heart, drying at the spot above her ankle. She lifts up the hem of her skirt and runs a shaking finger over the tiny cupid tattooed on her anklebone.

There is no one to observe her turning into mist.

yours truly
1:22 AM
2 comments

xoxo

Saturday, July 16


yours truly
10:16 PM
7 comments

xoxo

Friday, July 1

gently
like the rippling of a brook
your fingers run down the piano keys
then back up again
and i lose myself in
your melody.

the irresistible pull of
your magnetic personality -
the charm of your smile,
the wit of your words -
like a fist around my heart
making my blood run hot and cold
simultaneously.

and somehow
we're really nothing
but strangers who
fit perfectly, a key
to a lock.

you almost capture me,
but the wind changes direction
again
and we're blown
apart, away.

inevitably turning into foam as
the tide turns, we'll
leave these shells on the shore;
my heart,
and maybe -
yours.

yours truly
11:29 PM
0 comments

xoxo

it's over;
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