| Current music: | Cold--> Bleed |
Disappointment marked her face like technicolor paints under ultraviolet lights. And he was happy, no matter how pretense and longing the happiness could be at times. Both submerged in a distant sense of sore sobriety, they lie down in a vacant sea of overgrown grass stretching toward the sky, aching to survey the earth alongside the stars. It's all so beautiful when you're that high.
Despite secrets being conceived inside the innerworkings of their minds, this boy and girl shared little more than a common goal--don't fall in love. And never before has such a violently determined plan failed so miserably, for as one might suspect, this is exactly what happened.
Someone walked in and turned the lights off, and I couldn't quite make out who it was, and frankly I didn't care too much. But never the less the ambiguity struck a diminished chord in my mind and made me want to close my eyes so that the figure with the distorted grey silhouette could guide and protect me, and I would rely on touch alone. And maybe if I could find in my heart to trust him and not push him away, the monsters in the closet would quit making their hushed noises and find another undeserving victim to antagonize (or at least put their clothes back on before they came out).
All he wanted, all I needed, was just someone to hold on to, to keep warm, to hold on to the fading slippery illusion of being loved. Neither of these characters knew one another and yet neither of them seemed out of place at all. And each one awaiting something.
He, the grey-rimmed silhouette with a gentle hand and calming voice, never realized how truly alone he had forced himself to become. And I, the out of focus poet who perhaps wasnt really a poet at all. Just an indecisive passer-by who took comfort in a pen and paper, fascinated by the written word. And perhaps even the spoken word, beautiful and thought provoking like a cello in the London Symphony Orchestra on opening night. It's all so beautiful when you're that high.
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