old school

So, the writers block continues. This was written over a year ago, I don’t know why I never blogged it, probably because its incomplete. Why am I posting it now? I don’t know, but what does it matter. I guess it deserves its moment too.

Orange walls lit in circles with yellow candles. Cold air breaks white light, till only a few remain. With every low hiss, we are plunged in a slightly darker tone of gray; one by one we drift deeper. I sit, cross legged; tattered and frayed jeans lay lightly on white sofa. My hair flows down my back making waves and small constellations- who could be bothered to blow dry and straighten for this lot. My shirt clings to nothing, excess material covers me and I feel free to stretch without exposing myself. My eyes are circled in dark brown, the rest of my face is pure, no make up, no need to hide any marks- you can see everything when you talk to me. My eyes shine, I’m listening and you know it, I laugh at all the correct moments and my mouth forms a perfect round when I’m shocked by your concluding statement.

For you id bleed myself dry
For you id bleed myself dry

The food is getting cold, the clock strikes a time later than my curfew- but it doesn’t matter, when we’re together its like everything freezes somewhere between nonsense and rationale, and all of a sudden emotion and consequence meet between shards of silver and moon white space. You toss your head back and your hair is free for a minute, and I exercise every iota of self control to stop myself from smoothing it back into place. I hide behind a cynical comment mixed with a heavy dose of sarcasm and you pause in your story telling to just look at me for a moment. I don’t know what your thinking, but I can only guess that it’s in the positive- your eyes give you away. For a split second you’re naked in front of me and I see through your well applied layers of macho-ness and charm.

You don’t how lovely you are. Perfect really, every devilish grin and slow blink has me hooked. Im looking at you from a distance, both of us involved in our own fake conversation, me being slightly bored you being close to killing yourself. The music starts, I get dragged unto the dance floor against my will, I move because the music demands it, not because I want to. Up down, move left move right, it’s so robotic. More people join us, your there amongst the crowd, visually pleasing, mentally so far gone that the flashes of red and blue light have you possessed. We move, doing our own two steps in our own little square box, our poor dance partners oblivious. The song changes, I stop to tie up my hair, I feel you from behind.

Turn, maintain balance, smile.

‘It’s our song’

‘Really, I hadn’t realized.’


And with that, it began. And with that, I fell.