Whoa with the wtf?
This is a completely random thing, I needed to write and so I did. It makes no sense, and has a few references. In my minds eye I thought a lot about a conversation with atlashrugged when I started. I haven't even re-read this. At all.
So to you my friend.
There was a picture of her he had seen once. A college football game, purple and gold and a bright smile. The face was young, younger than now if it was possible for her to look younger. The picture had stuck in his mind because of how she looked. She was still Abby, but not the dark tinged Abby he knew now.
Her face was pale but free of the dark eyeshadow and the red lipstick. The smile was bright and wide. Happy.
That picture had fallen out of a book that had fallen from her nightstand. It had once been a placeholder in a dogeared collection of Tennessee William's plays. He came across the book face down on the floor, the picture inches from its corner. The picture and the book felt weighted in his hands as the books pages fanned open to a well read page.
Stairs to the Roof was the title of the well creased page looking back at him. He slid the picture over the page and caught a glimpse of someone he knew once but not now. The picture pressed against the seam and closed the book softly. The cover betrayed the true age as he set it back on the nightstand.
The words in the book were heavy and too much for him to know. He closed his eyes to find her waiting. It was space that kept him away, a need for it, a fear of himself. The house was dark as his history chased him to fresh air. Wet grass slushed under barefeet as he stood in the cold rain. A foreign yard, a place not his own and he wondered about each mistake stacked on another.
Her bed, her body, her place, her words wrapped in a thing he had denied and fought and pleaded with not to exist. Lust and love and hormones and longing were easily ignited when a smile hit the fuel at the right moment. A smile a laugh, the knowledge of who you are and how they know. And he had been so afraid. Afraid to let himself feel the desire and the need for someone. For comfort, a warm strong pair of arms to hold and to steady.
The strength of arms slipped way to the warmth of soft lips against rough skin. Pleading for it to end, for the longing to die and her lips found the fear and denied it. Fear was crushed by the touch of small hands and warm skin. Callused fingers and leather rings scuffed over skin and clothes.
It was a fumble and a gasp and a sigh when skin slid into skin. Her soft hands cupped his face as she pressed her forehead to his. "Wait with me. Go with me. Don't let go."
So he waited and she found the rhythm, he followed as she guided, and his hands found purchase on slim hips. She smiled, she laughed and for a moment he couldn't understand his fear.
He laid her on black silk sheets and watched her fall asleep. Then the fear and regret stalked up his body and the nightstand disturbed Tennessee Williams and he began his quest to solace.
His mind and heart waged a war in his body. To let go and feel alive and warm and so many varied things. Or to hide and withdraw and build up walls of distance. Give in or hide, hide or give in. He was lost.
One day the answer was given to him. He fought and he re-lived and he lost himself. Not long after, faith was the last to fall. And in a moment he knew that flight, a far flung adventure was the next course of action. Quickly he walked away until his name tripped from her lips.
A finger to soft lips, a look, the knowledge and his lips against her cheek. More his brain screamed and he looked, flashed his eyes over her face and in a moment he captured a double image. The sad loss and fear in her tears and the smile in a baseball hat in purple and gold. It was a half second smile and a gaze and he built the wall he knew he couldn't fight.
Miles from ordinary he sat in a brisk wind and listened to the water. The words of a playwright in a dogeared book fluttered around his senses as he thought of a girl with a smile, and woman with tears.
He needed to find stairs.
So to you my friend.
There was a picture of her he had seen once. A college football game, purple and gold and a bright smile. The face was young, younger than now if it was possible for her to look younger. The picture had stuck in his mind because of how she looked. She was still Abby, but not the dark tinged Abby he knew now.
Her face was pale but free of the dark eyeshadow and the red lipstick. The smile was bright and wide. Happy.
That picture had fallen out of a book that had fallen from her nightstand. It had once been a placeholder in a dogeared collection of Tennessee William's plays. He came across the book face down on the floor, the picture inches from its corner. The picture and the book felt weighted in his hands as the books pages fanned open to a well read page.
Stairs to the Roof was the title of the well creased page looking back at him. He slid the picture over the page and caught a glimpse of someone he knew once but not now. The picture pressed against the seam and closed the book softly. The cover betrayed the true age as he set it back on the nightstand.
The words in the book were heavy and too much for him to know. He closed his eyes to find her waiting. It was space that kept him away, a need for it, a fear of himself. The house was dark as his history chased him to fresh air. Wet grass slushed under barefeet as he stood in the cold rain. A foreign yard, a place not his own and he wondered about each mistake stacked on another.
Her bed, her body, her place, her words wrapped in a thing he had denied and fought and pleaded with not to exist. Lust and love and hormones and longing were easily ignited when a smile hit the fuel at the right moment. A smile a laugh, the knowledge of who you are and how they know. And he had been so afraid. Afraid to let himself feel the desire and the need for someone. For comfort, a warm strong pair of arms to hold and to steady.
The strength of arms slipped way to the warmth of soft lips against rough skin. Pleading for it to end, for the longing to die and her lips found the fear and denied it. Fear was crushed by the touch of small hands and warm skin. Callused fingers and leather rings scuffed over skin and clothes.
It was a fumble and a gasp and a sigh when skin slid into skin. Her soft hands cupped his face as she pressed her forehead to his. "Wait with me. Go with me. Don't let go."
So he waited and she found the rhythm, he followed as she guided, and his hands found purchase on slim hips. She smiled, she laughed and for a moment he couldn't understand his fear.
He laid her on black silk sheets and watched her fall asleep. Then the fear and regret stalked up his body and the nightstand disturbed Tennessee Williams and he began his quest to solace.
His mind and heart waged a war in his body. To let go and feel alive and warm and so many varied things. Or to hide and withdraw and build up walls of distance. Give in or hide, hide or give in. He was lost.
One day the answer was given to him. He fought and he re-lived and he lost himself. Not long after, faith was the last to fall. And in a moment he knew that flight, a far flung adventure was the next course of action. Quickly he walked away until his name tripped from her lips.
A finger to soft lips, a look, the knowledge and his lips against her cheek. More his brain screamed and he looked, flashed his eyes over her face and in a moment he captured a double image. The sad loss and fear in her tears and the smile in a baseball hat in purple and gold. It was a half second smile and a gaze and he built the wall he knew he couldn't fight.
Miles from ordinary he sat in a brisk wind and listened to the water. The words of a playwright in a dogeared book fluttered around his senses as he thought of a girl with a smile, and woman with tears.
He needed to find stairs.