I screamed and fought and thrashed but we both knew it was of no use.
“Demons don’t cry,” he whispered to himself over and over, trying to hide the tears already falling down his face.
memories of you
My memories of you
Begin with summer afternoons doing nothing
But playing the same, meaningless games
That I always seemed to win
Summer afternoons doing nothing
Followed by an autumn full of action
Races where I never seemed to win
With high school no longer, a made-up nightmare
An autumn full of action
Brought a winter full of hope
Snow days let us pretend that high school was a made-up nightmare
New Year’s had us make false promises, like everybody else
Winter full of hope
Lead to a hopeless spring
No time to study for all our tests, like everybody else
And a new job, meant a new location
A hopeless spring
Made me treasure my memories of you
Still hating the new location
Despite the discovery of your true games
“Hey,” She says, sliding into her seat, like she always does, with that smile that makes your heart do that thing that reminds you of the engine in your cousins motorcycle.
“Hey,” You respond, like you always do, to her shoes and not her face. She has nice shoes. Her shoes are always nice. Not as nice as her eyes though. Her eyes are very nice. Too nice. You aren't allowed to look into her eyes any more.
"How was your day yesterday?" She asks, like she does. You think of all the tears, the smoke. The fake smiles and harsh words. All the tears. Feeling like you couldn't breathe. Restless sleep. All the tears.
"Eh. Same old, same old. And yours?" You say, like you always do.
"It was great! Oh, and you'll never believe who I saw a-"
"RING" shrieks the bell, like it always does.
"I'll tell ya later," she says, and turns towards the front of the room. You try to pay attention, you really do. Everytime! But it never works. You find yourself drawing a doodle that looks suspiciously like the girl sitting next to you. She always sees them, and says that they look beautiful.
And she always is. Beautiful, you mean.
Dance With Me
You’ve never liked the rain. It reminds you of all those loud, stormy nights. The one time you ever caught your sister crying. The night you slept in that horror show of a basement. The first time your heart was broken. The night your parents all but disowned you. The day your cousin died. The rain is just full of bad memories for you.
But not for her.
She loves the rain. She told you as much, right off the bat. It was raining, the night you met. You’re pretty sure you didn’t notice, you were so caught up in everything she is, was, and ever will be.
And here you are, caught in the rain like in one of those cheesy rom-coms she insists you should actually bother to watch. But it's much more entertaining watching her scoff at your offer of a jacket. To watch her skip out from under the canopy you had attempted to hide away under.
She let you watch her do a twirl or two until she got bored of that, and came back. She held out her hand to you in offer.
“Dance with me,” she says. It wasn’t a question, and you know what your answer would be if it was, what with that damned smile of hers. But she doesn’t need to know that.
“In the cold, wet rain? With no music? When we have to be at your father’s fancy dinner party in 10 minutes?”
She didn’t even hesitate with her response. “Yes.”
And that's all it took.
That's all it took for her to let you lead in some kind of makeshift waltz, around the park that you swore that you would never return to once upon a time.
You’re half an hour late to her father's house. Both your dresses are dripping wet all night, and you’re pretty sure you look like a drowned rat.
She looks beautiful, of course. She always looks beautiful.
i kno im unk bu i ill mi u
i kno im umb bu i ill mi u
i kno u lik him mo bu i ill mi u
i ill mi you
h o i ill mi you?
You and Ray stand against the wall, and you feel that thought in you again. That they all hate you. That everyone you’ve ever met hates you and they’re just lying when they say they don’t. You look at the door where your... friends left and then turn back to Ray, just catching him make a face that you recognize from your own mirror.
“You okay?” You ask him, cause he looks like he's about to cry. You wouldn’t blame him.
He blinks quickly, his face morphing back to neutral. “Yeah. yeah I'm fine. Why you ask?” he says, awkwardly running his hands through his bright blue hair. You’ve always loved his hair. You’ve always wanted to know when he dyed it.
“Nothing, you just made a face is all,”
He doesn’t say anything, but just then, Fyn texts you. “We’ve gone to bed. See ya in the morning!” You almost laugh at the text. You literally just watched them all leave the building. Ray tilts his head at your face and you show him the text. He chuckles a sad little laugh before the two of you go back to silence, simply watching the door your friends went down.
“We really are team rejects, aren't we?” You say after the silence gets too thick.
“Yeah,” he says, “we really are”
You don’t say a word, you just hold up your lemonade bottle as a toast. You forgot he already threw away his coke, and something like a smile crosses your face as he holds up his fist in response. You toast. You than look down your hall and start walking.
The lemonade makes your throat burn in just the right way as you head back to your room for the night.
On The Edge Of The World
“If we hadn’t died, do you think he would have said yes?” the dead girl asked the dead boy as they sat on the edge of the world.
He thought carefully about his answer. “Does it matter?” he finally replied, gesturing to where they were, what they looked like.
“I think it does.”
“Because I would have hated it if he had said yes,” the dead girl said.
The dead boy’s dead jaw almost fell into the endless abyss before them. He caught it just in time. The dead boy let the pause between them last a little longer, before he walked into the verbal trap she had set before him.
“Because I’m in love with you,” she answered as if it had been rehearsed. The dead boy wished he had been called to that rehearsal.
“I know,” he said at last, as it was the truth.
For once, the dead boy was glad neither one of them had working hearts. He didn’t think they needed the heartbreak that would follow if he answered the unspoken question dancing in the dead eyes of the dead girl.