[quiet reasoning]
Drabble Battle IV. What is this, I don't even know! <3 Longer than the rest... 297 words.
For three years of primary school I thought you were allergic to them.
Was it such an odd thing to notice? You would veer away from most everything, and I'd never seen you eat a fruit. And then as a young one I concluded that you just didn't like fruits: This made sense to me. I hadn't either... before strawberries.
When was it? There was a year in middle school when we walked home together. This wasn't out of the ordinary; we always walked together. That day your eyes always rolled up to the clouds, lazily making their ways...
I had to take your elbow and lead you away from the road seven times. Your first dog had just died.
Our first - or was it the second? - year of high school was the year you found out you were adopted. I know you'll hate how I forgot it all. But I haven't, honestly. I still remember the way your young face, just then being carved slowly into the shape of a man's, smoothed any expression away. And there was the way your neck seemed to give out.
Your eyes never left the floor.
But why is it that I can't remember... when your logic finally drilled itself into my head? Somehow I picture all of you repeating the words to me - different faces, different voices. And I can't figure out where I belong.
It's all imperfect. Why do only the pretty ones get that chance?
But it'll go to waste.
Nothing goes to waste...
Even your pout paints itself again.
And now my brain doesn't want to try anymore, because each time, every time, it's still you, and it hurts, and I can't feel a difference.
It's still you, and that's all I'll know.
Rounds:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
For three years of primary school I thought you were allergic to them.
Was it such an odd thing to notice? You would veer away from most everything, and I'd never seen you eat a fruit. And then as a young one I concluded that you just didn't like fruits: This made sense to me. I hadn't either... before strawberries.
When was it? There was a year in middle school when we walked home together. This wasn't out of the ordinary; we always walked together. That day your eyes always rolled up to the clouds, lazily making their ways...
I had to take your elbow and lead you away from the road seven times. Your first dog had just died.
Our first - or was it the second? - year of high school was the year you found out you were adopted. I know you'll hate how I forgot it all. But I haven't, honestly. I still remember the way your young face, just then being carved slowly into the shape of a man's, smoothed any expression away. And there was the way your neck seemed to give out.
Your eyes never left the floor.
But why is it that I can't remember... when your logic finally drilled itself into my head? Somehow I picture all of you repeating the words to me - different faces, different voices. And I can't figure out where I belong.
It's all imperfect. Why do only the pretty ones get that chance?
But it'll go to waste.
Nothing goes to waste...
Even your pout paints itself again.
And now my brain doesn't want to try anymore, because each time, every time, it's still you, and it hurts, and I can't feel a difference.
It's still you, and that's all I'll know.
Rounds:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5