carob wildberry cinnamon swirl
Title: Pavement
Flavors: Carob 16 (heartache), wildberry 6 (killing time), cinnamon swirl 16 (fool's gold)
Rating: PG
Summary: Like five seconds in the life of someone who never really had a name, though I suppose his name is Jonathan. Wasn't meant to be him at first, but I guess it just ended up that way. And she's just a girl.
Sundays set with blazing colours on the prairies. The noisy flocks of voracious black birds that had only hours ago cast shadows over the length of main street and all of Walter park began to settle. With surprisingly little ado, they disappeared into the tall autumn grasses that shone and lapped like golden waves against the outskirts of town. And you watched from your rooftop. Your cat purred softly as she paced back and forth, rubbing her soft fur against your bare legs. The streets of our nostalgic town grew dull most days from the weight of too many moments - too many minds, it seemed, had memorized their cracks and faults for them to shine as they did those indistinct august Sundays. But I always remembered you behind the pool when I saw you there, as if in prayer to some god I could never understand. It was hard sometimes to remember those delicate, barely spoken words. Not the words themselves perse but your tone, your voice. The way your face took on a kind of intensity that manifested itself only when you told me things you’d never told anyone ever before. Not that I ever really noticed it, but looking back, I know it was there. I can’t remember though. You slipped through my fingers so quickly, like you were a ghost of a dream that fades and vanishes the moment you reach out to touch it. One moment you were real, the next - nothing but a martyred saint on a rooftop. I saw you from across the street sometimes on my way home, but you were a symbol, a fragment of language - the word but never the object. No matter how many times I saw you there, it was always clear that I had no place in your world, just as you had no place in mine. There was never to be another moment of bright awareness because your skin wasn’t meant to brush against mine as you reached over me at a crowded table. Your weight was never meant to settle into my body as your eyelids sank and the night grew old enough for you to forget what you were and weren’t meant to do. We weren’t meant for that, and I guess we never recovered. I would have remembered your light eyelashes in summer sun, or the scent of your hair, the soft tremor of confession and fear in your voice, but it would have been self-indulgent. It was time to stop making magic out of science - we should have known better. I should have known better. The pavement was hot even through the thin soles of my shoes, and I was real. The moment, the hints of discomfort in my legs from hours of aimless walking, the lingering heat of the pavement, the illusory shimmer of heat rising off the wide streets - all achingly, brilliantly real. And you were just gone. Right here, but without question, gone. A citizen of the past. My eyes wandered toward the impossible horizon, and the colours had faded to the heavy, distant blue of dusk. In a funny way, I’m glad you’re gone. I love you but I don’t miss you. We weren’t much more than a blaze of sunlight and autumn wheat - beautiful as gold but never as precious. But really, gold’s just a piece of metal. I guess it takes some kind of courage to quietly settle under the horizon and let a whole world go on without you for a while.
p.s. This is my first post so let me know if I'm doing anything wrong!
Flavors: Carob 16 (heartache), wildberry 6 (killing time), cinnamon swirl 16 (fool's gold)
Rating: PG
Summary: Like five seconds in the life of someone who never really had a name, though I suppose his name is Jonathan. Wasn't meant to be him at first, but I guess it just ended up that way. And she's just a girl.
Sundays set with blazing colours on the prairies. The noisy flocks of voracious black birds that had only hours ago cast shadows over the length of main street and all of Walter park began to settle. With surprisingly little ado, they disappeared into the tall autumn grasses that shone and lapped like golden waves against the outskirts of town. And you watched from your rooftop. Your cat purred softly as she paced back and forth, rubbing her soft fur against your bare legs. The streets of our nostalgic town grew dull most days from the weight of too many moments - too many minds, it seemed, had memorized their cracks and faults for them to shine as they did those indistinct august Sundays. But I always remembered you behind the pool when I saw you there, as if in prayer to some god I could never understand. It was hard sometimes to remember those delicate, barely spoken words. Not the words themselves perse but your tone, your voice. The way your face took on a kind of intensity that manifested itself only when you told me things you’d never told anyone ever before. Not that I ever really noticed it, but looking back, I know it was there. I can’t remember though. You slipped through my fingers so quickly, like you were a ghost of a dream that fades and vanishes the moment you reach out to touch it. One moment you were real, the next - nothing but a martyred saint on a rooftop. I saw you from across the street sometimes on my way home, but you were a symbol, a fragment of language - the word but never the object. No matter how many times I saw you there, it was always clear that I had no place in your world, just as you had no place in mine. There was never to be another moment of bright awareness because your skin wasn’t meant to brush against mine as you reached over me at a crowded table. Your weight was never meant to settle into my body as your eyelids sank and the night grew old enough for you to forget what you were and weren’t meant to do. We weren’t meant for that, and I guess we never recovered. I would have remembered your light eyelashes in summer sun, or the scent of your hair, the soft tremor of confession and fear in your voice, but it would have been self-indulgent. It was time to stop making magic out of science - we should have known better. I should have known better. The pavement was hot even through the thin soles of my shoes, and I was real. The moment, the hints of discomfort in my legs from hours of aimless walking, the lingering heat of the pavement, the illusory shimmer of heat rising off the wide streets - all achingly, brilliantly real. And you were just gone. Right here, but without question, gone. A citizen of the past. My eyes wandered toward the impossible horizon, and the colours had faded to the heavy, distant blue of dusk. In a funny way, I’m glad you’re gone. I love you but I don’t miss you. We weren’t much more than a blaze of sunlight and autumn wheat - beautiful as gold but never as precious. But really, gold’s just a piece of metal. I guess it takes some kind of courage to quietly settle under the horizon and let a whole world go on without you for a while.
p.s. This is my first post so let me know if I'm doing anything wrong!