Rating: PG I suppose
Summary: During the night I thought of you, bent over your desk, pen swiveling inside of your mouth and you belting out a thousand ballads to only the moon and stars. Thought of those stark blue eyes sparkling with sorrow and pain, your characters, your words, swimming around in the pale moonlight; marching off your page and into the dreams of every child inside of the town. Your brilliance astounded me. Your words amazed me. Your voice pained me. Your body sustained me.
And There Was A Boy At School
Nimble fingers and dull eyes, your words were like poetry, your lips were like poison. You oozed out every beautiful thing that could ever be created, alive, re-incarnated and burned and breathed life into it. Delicately your lips would move slowly, at first, like an engine gaining it’s speed before you’d start rambling and yelling, screaming and shredding paper.
The class applauded. They loved the way you read your poems.
You dressed elegantly, button down shirts and slacks with pin stripes in them, ties of different colors and eyeliner to match. Some said that was girly. I considered it elegant. Lovely. Beautiful. Dangerous. You flaunted yourself around the hallways, dragging your pen- sky blue ink, always the original cheeky one, weren’t you?- against the lockers, flinching every time the pen would hit the lock, but smiling all the same. Your boots would click, you’d cock out your hip and bounce from side to side, humming and thinking, singing and wishing, swaying and praying.- Were you one to pray? Were you tired down by religion?-
During the night I thought of you, bent over your desk, pen swiveling inside of your mouth and you belting out a thousand ballads to only the moon and stars. Thought of those stark blue eyes sparkling with sorrow and pain, your characters, your words, swimming around in the pale moonlight; marching off your page and into the dreams of every child inside of the town. Your brilliance astounded me. Your words amazed me. Your voice pained me. Your body sustained me.
I consider our meeting- our joining of two bodies, sweat and skin, lips and lust, lies and truths, hearts and spades- was inevitable. Intangible. Amazing. Breathless. How did it happen? How the fuck did it happen? I did pray upon every deity I could think of from the very depths of my soul that I could meet you once, talk to you, touch you, hear you in person. Alone. Secluded. Was I being specific? I wanted this to happen at 2:47 pm after the last school bus left and the sky was dark and dreary, rain pouring from the sky.
You’d come up to me. Broken umbrella. Drenched clothes. Pen in your mouth.
And I’d stare. Dry. Umbrella in my hand.
And we’d look at each other.
And we would talk home. Please God. Please. Please. Let me get what I want. Just once. Just once.
And then it happened.
The skies turned grew and a ominous rumble broke out, shattering the blue sky into a million pieces. The heavens opened up with a mighty cry and rain poured from the sky violent, strong torrents in waves pounding against the windows of the school and the floor. I crossed my fingers tightly and closed my eyes, listening to you sing about the rain today, how it’s rebellion would over take the world and how death would be brought upon us when we no longer can tell innocent from the evil.
2:47 pm.
Not a soul left.
I walked.
I stopped.
Breath on my neck.
I saw you.
Broken umbrella. Crooked smile. Pen in your mouth. Soaking wet. Christ.
"Your umbrella?"
"Yes?"
"Care to?"
"Yes."
"Wonderful." We walked. We didn’t need words. You didn’t need sentences. You spoke with such a distinct accent and voice, why would you need it? We whispered to each other, soft brushes of hands against the handle of the umbrella, intakes of breathes synchronized as we stepped over puddles. The gentle wheeze of my breath. The steady pace of yours.
"Alexander?"
"Yes."
"You…"
"Yes."
"Perfect."
The park that I had to pass to get home was breath taking under the steady glow of the rain pounding against it; each drop hitting the floor like a bomb and then exploding all over once again, hitting the floor space in another area all together. The body heat from the both of us made me sweat, slackening my tie and coughing uneasily. You looked as if it was a stroll through the park on Sunday morning.
"Stop."
"Sure."
"I want…"
"Here?"
"Yes."
And you did. We did. Stopped. You stopped. So I stopped. Dropped the umbrella- smacked the umbrella from my hands and pulled me towards the jungle gym, past the monkey bars and into the sand lot which looked like the beach at the moment. Pushed me into the sand and climbed on top of me, straddling my waist.
I looked up, startled, seeing your face plastered in hair and rain, and smiled sadly.
You still had that pen inside of your mouth.
"Why…why do you look at me? Do you see something wrong?"
"I see nothing wrong."
You never spoke in full sentences.
"What do you see?"
"Perfection."
"Never."
"Nic-"
"Shh.." You said, yanking the pen from between your lips- eyeliner today, nice touch, still sky blue- and placed it between your index finger and your middle finger. The literary cigarette. I- we staid like that for a while, breathing heavily in the rain. Quietly.
You slowly dragged your hand from its resting place at my sides and brought it to the buttons of my shirt, using the pen to pop them one by one. I shivered at the contact of the cool rain water hitting my chest and looked at you, starry eyed and afraid. You took your little pen and begin to scribble on my chest, drawing and writing and scratching as well. Your mouth moved and your eyes lit up as you did so, so I didn’t stop you. When you finished you slid off of me and smiled a little bit, admiring your art work.
You left me inside of the sand lot, head tipped back and singing the whole way home.
My umbrella broke after you threw it down.
When got home, before my shower I read what you wrote.
‘Writers like the intangible, Alexander.
Don’t begin to panic when there’s nothing to fear.
Love is never out of reach….’
The rest had smudged.
I stayed in the shower for an hour.
Things changed from then on.
We never talked.
We looked. We breathed. We felt. That was all we needed. The rainy days you’d do the same thing with me, sometimes you’d kiss me on the cheek, or on the lips, and laugh that sincere laugh. Poke a finger into my chest and sigh out about how blind I was.
Me. I was blind.
"Love?"
"Blind."
"Will we always be forced to talk like this?"
"For as long as we allow ourselves to."
And I met you on the street.
Harmlessly, breaking rules we’d meet.
The rule was that we weren’t to talk. To meet whatsoever. That we were to not say anything uncalled for. That we were not to lust for each other. Think of each other. See each other move in the darkness of the night, hands skating over each other’s skin, lips pressed together and eyes wide. A clash of hips. A swipe of lips. Gentle taps with our finger tips. I think your poetic notions were rubbing off on me.
After school, when everyone was gone. When they were gone I’d fall into your arms and sob sadly, wishing that I could be everything you were. Say the things you say. Wish the things you wish. I told you you were the best thing to happen to me in a while. In forever, really. You didn’t seem phased. I told you you were my idol. You smiled politely and kissed me on the cheek. I told you I loved you.
You. You stopped smiling. "Really?"
"Ye- yes, Nicholas."
Your eyes became downcast after that. Had my word of love destroyed you? Killed your passion for life? You never read another poem again. You didn’t sing. You wore standard pants and dirty sneakers. No more eyeliner. No more pens. You spoke to me in full sentences. Broken words whispered out gently, you held my hand inside of the hall way and kissed my cheek before you went to class.
I asked you something. Something small. Something minute. Something of no importance whatsoever. And you turned around and looked at me with the most pained expression on your face. Your cold, blue eyes were filled with hurt and pain, mouth twisted and shoulders slumped. "You, Alexander, can take the life out of anything."
"No, Nic-"
"Be quiet!" You yelled and I did. I staid quiet for a long time as you paced around me inside of the hallway. "How dare you tell me you love me."
"I do."
"Quiet." You whispered it this time. I didn’t object.
"You, Alexander, are cold. Dangerous. Cunning. Did you plan this from the beginning? Were you aiming to shoot me down? Was this a dare? Did you and your little buddies think it’d be cute to knock the spunk out of me? Well, look at me now. Look at me, Alexander. Is this what you wanted!?!"
No. Nicholas. Far from it. I wanted us back at the sand lot with you on top of me.
"I wanted the boy who wrote poetry." I mumbled sadly, hanging my head in shame as well. "I’m sorry."
"You’re not sorry, you’re so…s-s-so fucking blind, Alex!"
You never stuttered.
"Then open my eyes so I can see what the fuck you’re talking about!"
And you did. Sobbing slightly, you pulled my close and kissed me. Wildly. Passionately. Like a lighter that constantly flickered and then suddenly ignited furiously. I fell against he lockers. Metal in my back. Chains in my neck. Lock in my head. Your hips against mines. Your hands in my hair. Your lips to my skin. Everywhere. Every inch. You tasted of sand. Of memories. Of sweat.
"If writers like the intangible…." I breathed out, sitting inside of the principals office. He didn’t think it was that lovely to see two lads going at it against the lockers inside of the hall way. Hair mussed. Tie undone. Eyeliner smudged. Laces untied. Shirts untucked and hands sill pressed together. "If writers like the intangible then why are you attracted to me?"
"Because," You roll your eyes- Alexander, you’re so fucking blind!- and squeeze my hand a little, tightly. "You were just a boy from school. I liked that. The simplicity of it. Even in my most complicated poem, I could never explain how you, someone so…so normal, could make me feel something…so…-"
"So lovely? Elegant? Beautiful? Dangerous?" I smirked.
"No." You kissed my hands. "So normal."
Summary: During the night I thought of you, bent over your desk, pen swiveling inside of your mouth and you belting out a thousand ballads to only the moon and stars. Thought of those stark blue eyes sparkling with sorrow and pain, your characters, your words, swimming around in the pale moonlight; marching off your page and into the dreams of every child inside of the town. Your brilliance astounded me. Your words amazed me. Your voice pained me. Your body sustained me.
And There Was A Boy At School
Nimble fingers and dull eyes, your words were like poetry, your lips were like poison. You oozed out every beautiful thing that could ever be created, alive, re-incarnated and burned and breathed life into it. Delicately your lips would move slowly, at first, like an engine gaining it’s speed before you’d start rambling and yelling, screaming and shredding paper.
The class applauded. They loved the way you read your poems.
You dressed elegantly, button down shirts and slacks with pin stripes in them, ties of different colors and eyeliner to match. Some said that was girly. I considered it elegant. Lovely. Beautiful. Dangerous. You flaunted yourself around the hallways, dragging your pen- sky blue ink, always the original cheeky one, weren’t you?- against the lockers, flinching every time the pen would hit the lock, but smiling all the same. Your boots would click, you’d cock out your hip and bounce from side to side, humming and thinking, singing and wishing, swaying and praying.- Were you one to pray? Were you tired down by religion?-
During the night I thought of you, bent over your desk, pen swiveling inside of your mouth and you belting out a thousand ballads to only the moon and stars. Thought of those stark blue eyes sparkling with sorrow and pain, your characters, your words, swimming around in the pale moonlight; marching off your page and into the dreams of every child inside of the town. Your brilliance astounded me. Your words amazed me. Your voice pained me. Your body sustained me.
I consider our meeting- our joining of two bodies, sweat and skin, lips and lust, lies and truths, hearts and spades- was inevitable. Intangible. Amazing. Breathless. How did it happen? How the fuck did it happen? I did pray upon every deity I could think of from the very depths of my soul that I could meet you once, talk to you, touch you, hear you in person. Alone. Secluded. Was I being specific? I wanted this to happen at 2:47 pm after the last school bus left and the sky was dark and dreary, rain pouring from the sky.
You’d come up to me. Broken umbrella. Drenched clothes. Pen in your mouth.
And I’d stare. Dry. Umbrella in my hand.
And we’d look at each other.
And we would talk home. Please God. Please. Please. Let me get what I want. Just once. Just once.
And then it happened.
The skies turned grew and a ominous rumble broke out, shattering the blue sky into a million pieces. The heavens opened up with a mighty cry and rain poured from the sky violent, strong torrents in waves pounding against the windows of the school and the floor. I crossed my fingers tightly and closed my eyes, listening to you sing about the rain today, how it’s rebellion would over take the world and how death would be brought upon us when we no longer can tell innocent from the evil.
2:47 pm.
Not a soul left.
I walked.
I stopped.
Breath on my neck.
I saw you.
Broken umbrella. Crooked smile. Pen in your mouth. Soaking wet. Christ.
"Your umbrella?"
"Yes?"
"Care to?"
"Yes."
"Wonderful." We walked. We didn’t need words. You didn’t need sentences. You spoke with such a distinct accent and voice, why would you need it? We whispered to each other, soft brushes of hands against the handle of the umbrella, intakes of breathes synchronized as we stepped over puddles. The gentle wheeze of my breath. The steady pace of yours.
"Alexander?"
"Yes."
"You…"
"Yes."
"Perfect."
The park that I had to pass to get home was breath taking under the steady glow of the rain pounding against it; each drop hitting the floor like a bomb and then exploding all over once again, hitting the floor space in another area all together. The body heat from the both of us made me sweat, slackening my tie and coughing uneasily. You looked as if it was a stroll through the park on Sunday morning.
"Stop."
"Sure."
"I want…"
"Here?"
"Yes."
And you did. We did. Stopped. You stopped. So I stopped. Dropped the umbrella- smacked the umbrella from my hands and pulled me towards the jungle gym, past the monkey bars and into the sand lot which looked like the beach at the moment. Pushed me into the sand and climbed on top of me, straddling my waist.
I looked up, startled, seeing your face plastered in hair and rain, and smiled sadly.
You still had that pen inside of your mouth.
"Why…why do you look at me? Do you see something wrong?"
"I see nothing wrong."
You never spoke in full sentences.
"What do you see?"
"Perfection."
"Never."
"Nic-"
"Shh.." You said, yanking the pen from between your lips- eyeliner today, nice touch, still sky blue- and placed it between your index finger and your middle finger. The literary cigarette. I- we staid like that for a while, breathing heavily in the rain. Quietly.
You slowly dragged your hand from its resting place at my sides and brought it to the buttons of my shirt, using the pen to pop them one by one. I shivered at the contact of the cool rain water hitting my chest and looked at you, starry eyed and afraid. You took your little pen and begin to scribble on my chest, drawing and writing and scratching as well. Your mouth moved and your eyes lit up as you did so, so I didn’t stop you. When you finished you slid off of me and smiled a little bit, admiring your art work.
You left me inside of the sand lot, head tipped back and singing the whole way home.
My umbrella broke after you threw it down.
When got home, before my shower I read what you wrote.
‘Writers like the intangible, Alexander.
Don’t begin to panic when there’s nothing to fear.
Love is never out of reach….’
The rest had smudged.
I stayed in the shower for an hour.
Things changed from then on.
We never talked.
We looked. We breathed. We felt. That was all we needed. The rainy days you’d do the same thing with me, sometimes you’d kiss me on the cheek, or on the lips, and laugh that sincere laugh. Poke a finger into my chest and sigh out about how blind I was.
Me. I was blind.
"Love?"
"Blind."
"Will we always be forced to talk like this?"
"For as long as we allow ourselves to."
And I met you on the street.
Harmlessly, breaking rules we’d meet.
The rule was that we weren’t to talk. To meet whatsoever. That we were to not say anything uncalled for. That we were not to lust for each other. Think of each other. See each other move in the darkness of the night, hands skating over each other’s skin, lips pressed together and eyes wide. A clash of hips. A swipe of lips. Gentle taps with our finger tips. I think your poetic notions were rubbing off on me.
After school, when everyone was gone. When they were gone I’d fall into your arms and sob sadly, wishing that I could be everything you were. Say the things you say. Wish the things you wish. I told you you were the best thing to happen to me in a while. In forever, really. You didn’t seem phased. I told you you were my idol. You smiled politely and kissed me on the cheek. I told you I loved you.
You. You stopped smiling. "Really?"
"Ye- yes, Nicholas."
Your eyes became downcast after that. Had my word of love destroyed you? Killed your passion for life? You never read another poem again. You didn’t sing. You wore standard pants and dirty sneakers. No more eyeliner. No more pens. You spoke to me in full sentences. Broken words whispered out gently, you held my hand inside of the hall way and kissed my cheek before you went to class.
I asked you something. Something small. Something minute. Something of no importance whatsoever. And you turned around and looked at me with the most pained expression on your face. Your cold, blue eyes were filled with hurt and pain, mouth twisted and shoulders slumped. "You, Alexander, can take the life out of anything."
"No, Nic-"
"Be quiet!" You yelled and I did. I staid quiet for a long time as you paced around me inside of the hallway. "How dare you tell me you love me."
"I do."
"Quiet." You whispered it this time. I didn’t object.
"You, Alexander, are cold. Dangerous. Cunning. Did you plan this from the beginning? Were you aiming to shoot me down? Was this a dare? Did you and your little buddies think it’d be cute to knock the spunk out of me? Well, look at me now. Look at me, Alexander. Is this what you wanted!?!"
No. Nicholas. Far from it. I wanted us back at the sand lot with you on top of me.
"I wanted the boy who wrote poetry." I mumbled sadly, hanging my head in shame as well. "I’m sorry."
"You’re not sorry, you’re so…s-s-so fucking blind, Alex!"
You never stuttered.
"Then open my eyes so I can see what the fuck you’re talking about!"
And you did. Sobbing slightly, you pulled my close and kissed me. Wildly. Passionately. Like a lighter that constantly flickered and then suddenly ignited furiously. I fell against he lockers. Metal in my back. Chains in my neck. Lock in my head. Your hips against mines. Your hands in my hair. Your lips to my skin. Everywhere. Every inch. You tasted of sand. Of memories. Of sweat.
"If writers like the intangible…." I breathed out, sitting inside of the principals office. He didn’t think it was that lovely to see two lads going at it against the lockers inside of the hall way. Hair mussed. Tie undone. Eyeliner smudged. Laces untied. Shirts untucked and hands sill pressed together. "If writers like the intangible then why are you attracted to me?"
"Because," You roll your eyes- Alexander, you’re so fucking blind!- and squeeze my hand a little, tightly. "You were just a boy from school. I liked that. The simplicity of it. Even in my most complicated poem, I could never explain how you, someone so…so normal, could make me feel something…so…-"
"So lovely? Elegant? Beautiful? Dangerous?" I smirked.
"No." You kissed my hands. "So normal."
