and you want to be dressed in poetry, but imagery doesn't fit...
Braeden
This is how it was. As soon as she got off the computer or came out of class, he was there, smiling at her, and she was smiling back.
And it never started out with "Hey. How was your day?" because it rarely seemed to have ended last at a point with closure. Usually she'd have been crawling into bed, still letting the situation play out, and she'd let the thoughts run until she fell asleep. She was constantly falling asleep or getting interrupted in the middle of engagements, thoughts, actions, and for that, they never really began at a certain place.
So there he was. He was walking home with her, exchanging witty banter and making plans for that night, disappearing right when she entered the door to greet her parents. He was on the phone when she was in her room, inviting her home to Phoenix for a few days while he was there. He was on her mind and his presence was never failing.
Not that she minded terribly, but the other things seemed to drift when he was there. She didn't really think about him while he was gone, not unless she was alone, but then he'd usually pop up in the form of a phone call or a wide grin or a kiss on the neck. When she wasn't focused on something, he was there. Infallible.
Because the situation never started anew when he appeared, they could be dragged out for days. Or, sometimes, they could only last a few minutes; the scene would be resolved or would end, and another would pop up, or she would be interrupted and the next would have to wait for another day.
But he was always there, and she was starting to wonder why. She wondered why when he wasn't around, but when he was there, she was nothing but elated. Happiness incarnate.
Once again, she glanced across the room and saw his black hair peeking over the top of the recliner. He was undoubtedly listening to his MP3 player, tapping his fingers against the armrests to the beat. He was a musician; that's what they did. Or at least that's what he did. Anyways, case in point: He was always present, even when they weren't exactly affecting one another.
Distracting, though. She had a hard time enough not letting her mind wander, but with him consistently poking his head over her shoulder, seducing her with promises of entertainment and imagination and pure mindlessness, she could almost never resist.
But this was what made her worry. If she couldn't resist-didn't want to resist-how would she ever get back to real life? Real life involved work and thinking and concentration and mundane, mundane tasks. These days, she couldn't even wait for the popcorn to pop without drifting toward his pledges. She drifted because he always kept his promises. Life, on the other hand? Not so much.
She sat, biting her nails softly, staring at the computer screen. She felt a pull, and she was walking over to the recliner, balancing herself carefully on his lap. He smiled, eyes closed, earphones on, and one of his arms wrapped smoothly around her hip. She leaned against the back of the recliner, still looking at him, before she closed her eyes.
Somehow, being here was better. She could sit here and do nothing for hours, never feeling the pull of real life once.
So she did.
This is how it was. As soon as she got off the computer or came out of class, he was there, smiling at her, and she was smiling back.
And it never started out with "Hey. How was your day?" because it rarely seemed to have ended last at a point with closure. Usually she'd have been crawling into bed, still letting the situation play out, and she'd let the thoughts run until she fell asleep. She was constantly falling asleep or getting interrupted in the middle of engagements, thoughts, actions, and for that, they never really began at a certain place.
So there he was. He was walking home with her, exchanging witty banter and making plans for that night, disappearing right when she entered the door to greet her parents. He was on the phone when she was in her room, inviting her home to Phoenix for a few days while he was there. He was on her mind and his presence was never failing.
Not that she minded terribly, but the other things seemed to drift when he was there. She didn't really think about him while he was gone, not unless she was alone, but then he'd usually pop up in the form of a phone call or a wide grin or a kiss on the neck. When she wasn't focused on something, he was there. Infallible.
Because the situation never started anew when he appeared, they could be dragged out for days. Or, sometimes, they could only last a few minutes; the scene would be resolved or would end, and another would pop up, or she would be interrupted and the next would have to wait for another day.
But he was always there, and she was starting to wonder why. She wondered why when he wasn't around, but when he was there, she was nothing but elated. Happiness incarnate.
Once again, she glanced across the room and saw his black hair peeking over the top of the recliner. He was undoubtedly listening to his MP3 player, tapping his fingers against the armrests to the beat. He was a musician; that's what they did. Or at least that's what he did. Anyways, case in point: He was always present, even when they weren't exactly affecting one another.
Distracting, though. She had a hard time enough not letting her mind wander, but with him consistently poking his head over her shoulder, seducing her with promises of entertainment and imagination and pure mindlessness, she could almost never resist.
But this was what made her worry. If she couldn't resist-didn't want to resist-how would she ever get back to real life? Real life involved work and thinking and concentration and mundane, mundane tasks. These days, she couldn't even wait for the popcorn to pop without drifting toward his pledges. She drifted because he always kept his promises. Life, on the other hand? Not so much.
She sat, biting her nails softly, staring at the computer screen. She felt a pull, and she was walking over to the recliner, balancing herself carefully on his lap. He smiled, eyes closed, earphones on, and one of his arms wrapped smoothly around her hip. She leaned against the back of the recliner, still looking at him, before she closed her eyes.
Somehow, being here was better. She could sit here and do nothing for hours, never feeling the pull of real life once.
So she did.