blah
This is my attempt to write something, anything.
If he’d told her he was an angel, she wouldn’t have believed him.
Summer was thick and heavy, heat cracking the sky apart as day faded into night. The world was drowsy. Life moved at a crawl, all bogged down by that special lethargy found in long hot days and short warm nights.
She was smoking on the beach with her friends dressed in pajamas that whispered against her skin; the waves washed in and pulled back out to sea in a rhythmic lullaby and smoke drifted up away from them, curling against the bruised twilight sky. Summer was still a dream-perhaps the last dream of freedom they would have. Beyond the painted horizon, life awaited, grown and different and new.
His dark skin blended into the night, but as he approached, his lazy smile was impossible to miss. She noticed him first and watched him-as her friends slowly began to look up and nod at his appearance, she felt that he only had eyes for her.
His stare was innocent, and that unnerved her.
**
There were times when she knew she could never truly feel alone. When she was at her lowest, when her heart was breaking and she could feel bittersweet tears on her cheeks, there was always something. A bruised sky. A bloodied moon. A lone cat watching her with that knowing look in its eyes. Times like those, she knew there was something greater out there, and she was connected to it. Nature was there to remind her that she never went unnoticed, and she never suffered alone.
**
The days blended together. She wished they wouldn’t-they slipped through her fingers, one by one, and she knew an end was coming. She wanted each day to last. Funny how she appreciated those days, but they were the ones that didn’t last long enough.
Even when they were with the group, they were separate. They did the same things-smoked together, walked together, dreamed together-but it seemed so far away from everyone else. “Give me your hand,” he said, and she did, cigarette between two fingers. He ran his thumb over her palm, eyes moving between the lines there and her eyes.
“What are you looking for?” she asked with a quiet chuckle.
He released her hand and told her, “You’ll find happiness… or it’ll find you.”
The words struck her as absurd, and she laughed, but things like that were part of why she loved him.
There's a lot of the weird stuff going on in my head in there, I know it. I wonder if writing will help it, or if I should try writing something distanced from me?
If he’d told her he was an angel, she wouldn’t have believed him.
Summer was thick and heavy, heat cracking the sky apart as day faded into night. The world was drowsy. Life moved at a crawl, all bogged down by that special lethargy found in long hot days and short warm nights.
She was smoking on the beach with her friends dressed in pajamas that whispered against her skin; the waves washed in and pulled back out to sea in a rhythmic lullaby and smoke drifted up away from them, curling against the bruised twilight sky. Summer was still a dream-perhaps the last dream of freedom they would have. Beyond the painted horizon, life awaited, grown and different and new.
His dark skin blended into the night, but as he approached, his lazy smile was impossible to miss. She noticed him first and watched him-as her friends slowly began to look up and nod at his appearance, she felt that he only had eyes for her.
His stare was innocent, and that unnerved her.
**
There were times when she knew she could never truly feel alone. When she was at her lowest, when her heart was breaking and she could feel bittersweet tears on her cheeks, there was always something. A bruised sky. A bloodied moon. A lone cat watching her with that knowing look in its eyes. Times like those, she knew there was something greater out there, and she was connected to it. Nature was there to remind her that she never went unnoticed, and she never suffered alone.
**
The days blended together. She wished they wouldn’t-they slipped through her fingers, one by one, and she knew an end was coming. She wanted each day to last. Funny how she appreciated those days, but they were the ones that didn’t last long enough.
Even when they were with the group, they were separate. They did the same things-smoked together, walked together, dreamed together-but it seemed so far away from everyone else. “Give me your hand,” he said, and she did, cigarette between two fingers. He ran his thumb over her palm, eyes moving between the lines there and her eyes.
“What are you looking for?” she asked with a quiet chuckle.
He released her hand and told her, “You’ll find happiness… or it’ll find you.”
The words struck her as absurd, and she laughed, but things like that were part of why she loved him.
There's a lot of the weird stuff going on in my head in there, I know it. I wonder if writing will help it, or if I should try writing something distanced from me?