Lost and Found

Jan 19, 2007 21:37


Something I wrote a few months ago for my creative writing class. I think it's decent. Tell me what yoooou think. ;D

Our ignorance was tangible as his breath coated my neck and his lips inched down my throat to my barely pubescent collarbone. I had imagined handpicked orchids laced over linens. I had pictured smooth skin sculpting into a timeless masterpiece basking under the lights that only wick and wax could produce. I wanted romance and passion and love and more than it was. We were ravenous, clutching each other in a panic of hormones that overwhelmed our senses. Without thought or memory we plunged into each other. I wanted my first time to be like art glided on to canvases, spoken softly in iambic pentameter and portrayed in a light that only the elite could recall. But it wasn’t like oil paints colliding with cloth, or words mingling with rhythm. He wasn’t gentle, or romantic, or even sentimental. He was raw and his scolding breath slapped my dreams and drained me of my dignity. I was nothing in his arms and everything at the same time. I did nothing as he crashed beside me on the twin side bed. I smelled like the sweat that poured from his body onto mine. I was disgusted.
Yet here I was years later, someone else rolling off my still body as I lay counting the cracks in the ceiling. His breath smelt like cigars and marijuana. He was a poet and photographer and he was supposed to see the world the way I did. And I was supposed to love him. I was supposed to mean it when I said those three ever-important words. But I didn’t. And despite my wanting to feel that way towards him-I couldn’t. There was something missing and each time he touched me and spoke sweetly, I died inside. He spoke eloquently about the world and knew things I only dreamt of knowing about. But the spark that was once there was merely a memory, fading in time revealing what it truly was. Desperation--desperation grasping onto the threads of my fraying mind.  
He left me for someone with more passion. Who cared more, spoke more and knew more-himself. I spent nights gazing at the water in a city that smelled like distance and reminded me of home. On wooden docks ascending with stone steps I gazed onto a harbor that captured my mind. There was a part of me missing. Something that lay tangled beneath the sheets. Mangled in a sort of half revelation that I didn’t understand. There was a hole. Something gapping. Something missing, something that I couldn’t describe. Even when being held tight by masculine arms I felt like I was slipping and no one could catch me-no matter how strong.
I watched trash tango down the asphalt as I paralleled my steps on the shattered sidewalks. My unfocused eyes became fixated on the waltz of tattered paper in the street as if I was going to find my missing pieces as their partners. And in a moment, everything changed. In an explosion of man made lights, curling colored metal and blood my whole world changed.
My eyes adhesion to the asphalt blinded me from seeing that I was about to walk in front of a moving vehicle. Her attempts to skid out of the way were unsuccessful

I woke up in a noisy hospital five miles from my house. The lovely suite I was awarded for my idiocy was dismal and plain. The walls reeked of similarity and pain. I could barely hear the barely coherent screams from a female down the hall.
“ All I want to know is if she’s okay…. No I’m not family… Yes I understand you can’t release information…I don’t want to know her medical history I just want to know if she’s alright.” Bellowed the female voice, cracking occasionally.
Curiosity led me to abandon my stiff plastic bed to hobble my way into the hallway in search of a nurse, or the cause of the commotion.  The strikingly subzero linoleum floor tipped me off to the fact that not only did I not have any socks on, but also the back of my gown was completely open. As I continued my bare-assed journey down the hallway, I heard a stern voice from behind me, “Ms. Andrews, Ms. Andrews.”
I turned around to see the round frustrated face of a woman dressed in lilac scrubs insisting I go back to my room.
“Ms. Andrews you have a concussion and it’s best if you lay down for a bit.”
With the intention of returning to my sterile cell, I slowly rotated my feet. As I headed back to my room I noticed that the booming bellowing at the end of the hall had stopped. In its place was the sound of tennis shoes squeaking against a slick floor approaching me from behind. I turned so quickly I lost my balance. My initial stumble left me anticipating the angst of a painful floor smashing against the back of my skull. Following the beginning of my fall, I clenched my eyes shut. But to my surprise there was no smashing against the slippery solid floor beneath me-only the surprisingly pleasant feeling of arms securing me safely mid-fall.
My eyes eased open and I stared for a moment at the face above mine. Her lips tiptoed up the sides of her cheeks in the most striking smile I had ever seen. As my epiphany erupted in my head I leaned up and introduced my lips to hers in the most polite fashion. Those few seconds were rapture wrapped in ribbon. Twirling through my mind like smoke I became suspended in these seconds replaying my own fulfilled desires like a checklist: Romantic, passionate, gentle, sentimental. This is what I’d been waiting for. I was falling-but more like floating.

WOO!
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