They think it's stupid, that they have to hide, how they can't tell anyone (despite the fact everyone knows already--). They are seventeen and nineteen respectively, and it seems kind of stupid that at this teenage, exhibitionist stage of their lives, they have to hide exactly what they want to show (love love love). And it nibbles at them, at first, a little feeling in the pit of the stomach, but the nibble became a gnaw--something stronger that makes the butterflies attack with something akin to vengeance (like they really wanted those butterflies in their stomachs in the first place). And then it becomes sharp bites, chunks of their souls taken out--this is too much. They're too young for this to be worth this--to be worth the secrets and the fears and the tears and sweat.
So they end it.
"It's better this way," one of them chokes. Tears fall from his eyes and they are hiding in the studio bathroom. They have a photoshoot scheduled. "I mean, you know it is. I know it is. So--"
It ends with a kiss, desperate and soft and hard and gentle all at once. Something reserved only for the first love. Hands don't stray, only linger (on his cheeks, on his shoulders, in his hair--don't forget this).
So they end it.
"It's better this way," one of them chokes. Tears fall from his eyes and they are hiding in the studio bathroom. They have a photoshoot scheduled. "I mean, you know it is. I know it is. So--"
It ends with a kiss, desperate and soft and hard and gentle all at once. Something reserved only for the first love. Hands don't stray, only linger (on his cheeks, on his shoulders, in his hair--don't forget this).
They'll never forget this.
Reply
*hugs you*
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment