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mood |
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accomplished |
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music |
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boys night out ; where we breathe |
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i.what's not allowed.
it was our secret place, really.
hidden behind pine trees and the
dark color of the earth, we waited
in silence almost every night. what for,
we never really knew. never anything
stupid and romantic like sunsets or stars or
the big, white moon. you couldn't see much
of the sky anyways. we just went there too sit
and wait and be together, i guess.
he's leaning against his old civic,
smoking a cigarette, probably a little buzzed
already. if i'm disappointed, i'm not
showing it. after all, it doesn't matter.
it's only 8 o clock and from what i can see
the sky is already littered with shining stars.
i wonder if he remembers what i'm doing here,
right this second.
his pale hands are fiddling with eachother
& he's staring forward at nothing,
with that same stare he always has
when he's thinking real hard.
i'm almost proud of the fact that i
know his emotions.
maybe i don't, though.
i'm sitting on the hood of the car,
my feet are resting on the bumper.
i have my own hood up, and i'm wishing
he would look over at me, i'm wishing
i would think of something good too say.
but all i can think of is how cold my
hands are.
i wish he would hold them.
he doesn't do that, though.
he never does that.
we look, but we never touch.
he finally says something, shattering
our silence completely. he has a knack
for doing that. shattering things, breaking
them.
"i wasn't made for this. i really wasn't."
i think 'this' is us. he's never
very elaborate on what he says.
he just assumes i can take his
cryptic bullshit and make a instructional
manual out of it.
i still can't think of anything too say.
he doesn't like going places with our friends.
his friends.
he says they're too loud.
i always think we're too quiet.
maybe i'm not loud enough.
it's quiet again.
the pine trees are moving around with the
fresh, cold air of autumn. it smells like
sharp earth & pine needles.
i look at my hands. they're rough and
white and small and look old. 100 years old.
i wonder when we're going too leave.
"...you know what i mean, right?"
i look up for the first time. his blue eyes
aren't so blue anymore. they look older. he
looks older. 16 going on 60. i look back down
and nod. he was probably just saying more words
that i can't peice together about nothing
i'll ever understand.
we look, but we never touch.
i wonder why we put up with eachother, sometimes.
all the time.
i think he does, too.
he says i'm the only person who understands him,
i'm the only one who listens. when he's not in his
right mind he tells me things like that. i think it's
his stupid way of showing affection.
i wonder if it would kill him too know that i don't
understand him at all. that i don't really listen.
i hear a jingle of keys, signaling that we're going now.
we're done for the night. i get in the car. it's
quiet ride home.
my hands are cold. i'm holding them in my pockets.
i get out his car, and we say goodbye silently.
he never expects a hug or a kiss,
he never expects a brush of hands, even.
he doesn't do that.
we look, but we never touch.
P.Sthat was really long
& i will love you forever if you read
the whole thingggg.
k, i'm done.
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