AboutMy entire life is inside my iPod. Every day. Every year. Every sweet memory.
They laid back together on the patio couch while each enjoyed the others company. His head leaned to hers which all the more intermixed their dark brown-blackish hair as the pleasure of their platonic relationship overwhelmed the atmosphere. They had talked for hours now, shaded by music that played in the background, absolutely unaware of the time in the light of their amorous friendship.
“Any luck with other girls then?” She looked at him earnestly.
“What other girls?”
Her face lifted away from his and flashed slight annoyance. He looked at her with a smile.
“There aren’t many girls that speak to me these days,” he said.
She rolled her eyes.
“Well, not that many people in general.” He fidgets slightly. “If a girl were interested in me, a stranger, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t initiate a conversation.. I think my mind uses it as a reason to justify how I feel about my looks and personality.”
It’s hard to be a guy.. it’s usually either put yourself out there or nothing happens. Most girls expect a guy to make the first move.” He looked down at his fingers, fumbling with them. “Some don’t realize you actually have to show some interest by flirting. And even then, as a guy, you have to figure out if their flirting is really flirting and not friendly banter - if you choose wrong you get talked about.”
He sighed, the stress of his ideas weighing him down. She propped her head on his shoulder.
“So what’s a guy to do but stay quiet and avoid the BS.. of course, it’s a form of social isolation though, so I’m compelled to make an ass of myself. But I don’t. It’s pretty frustrating - I believe that’s why I’ll be alone,” he concluded.
“Thing is, as much as you wouldn’t want to be alone, you’ve already accepted it as it is - like you’ve resigned yourself to know that outcome. I don’t know,” she said, at loss with his pessimism. “I mean, if you were dedicated enough to try and try despite the obvious depressing and frustrating outcomes lately - well, you’d need a stronger willpower, I suppose. I just don’t want you to give up quite yet.”
“I just don’t want a relationship to be nothing more than trial and error,” he said.
“A relationship will be based on trial and error anyhow. You can’t find a completely ‘perfect’ partnership without going through those errors,” she replied. “How else would you learn about the other?”
“How exactly am I supposed to find someone outside of work or school?”
“It requires a ton of social effort. Especially for us.”
“And that’s effort I don’t want to push. I don’t want to flirt my way through another failed relationship.” His breath deepened with melancholy. He spoke. “Then there are my physical imperfections and my social awkwardness. I just don’t think I’m worth it. Plus, the whole ‘taking initiative’ aspect of talking to a random girl has petty annoyances too. All I really want to do is make a girl happy.”
Yes, a part of me has given up, but it’s partly due to being tired of this social cluster fuck of modern courting.”
Her eyes softened. “I know, and I honestly wish I could do something, anything, to change things around for you. Make you happy for once.” She hugged him tightly.
“But you can’t and I’m left to build a glass prison away from the world. I feel so goddamn separated.”
Her sigh pierced the air. “I know I’m not the rest of the world, but I’m sorry if I’ve deviated away these couple of weeks.”
“I can’t blame you for living your life.”
“I still don’t have one. I try, though.” She smiled, intent on breaking the moroseness of their topic.
“At least one of us is,” he said, staring into space. “You know, I think I understand why people who are depressed talk about suicide to get attention. That’s just what they need. There’s a certain point where you long for someone that wants to talk to you so much, they’ll go out of their way to send minute messages in the hope of starting a conversation. I don’t have someone like that.”
“I’m hoping, still, that it’s because you don’t need someone like that..” she said, her face irritated. He leaned on her and she stroked his hair with gentle adoration as they both stared out into their surroundings.
“It’s nice sometimes,” he finally replied, “for people to message without my doing. It makes me feel as if I’m wanted, if only for those few minutes.”
He sits in bed. Leaning on his headrest, his mind wanders the contours of her face, her image beating numbly, repeatedly.. annoyingly.. quicker than his heartbeat. Her features fade in and out, in and out, while he sits and contemplates just what the hell is going on between both of them. His lips mimic another part of his mind, miming the words over and over in succession with her looks. She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not.. No, no, her lips say, I do love you, know that, but not the same, not the same. His heart stumbles over a pulse, tripping over the thought of her words. Never, never. In succession, they overlap against her and the childish whispers outlined by his motored jaw in an unending circle. The words overwhelm him, overwhelm him and he’s left to hide himself from the contraption - the machine of his mind’s own creation - by sifting through the memories that tie them together by the seams. She flashes into view, her hair a mesh netting protecting her face from his as she digs her head deeper into the pillow. He gawks at her, inches away, just inches, and all he can do is look at their intimacy, unbroken by the words that drip and sputter from their mouths. He longs to kiss her, longs to devour her love and in turn be devoured by the passion he’s held on for what has seemed like an eternity, never ending, forever. He can’t, he knows, her words glaring at his intentions boring a hole of guilt he can never cover. It’s awkward if we do. It grips him and holds him and all he can do is lie there watching the face that he’s willing to stare hours at, wake up to, completely adore, sear into his mind; the words of a joke escaping from his skull which he cannot recapture, which he cannot undo because the moment is over and he’s left to take up his post, her laugh intermixing with his. She fades and scrolls of conversations roll through the simple, wrinkled, crevasses of his brain, each and every word sticking into him like a bullet that sizzles and melts into his soul. Her love. He feels it warming him, warming him like a distant sun that freezes when every single phrase of most likely not, I may never, we may never be together, together, together as friends, that’s what we are friends, all we are - friends, crawls through the surface turning fire into steam, the hoarfrost edging to engulf his only source of light. Click. He switches, the room goes dark, a void, a vacuum that sucks away all the words that they’ve shared together, lived together. And he’s stuck, the emptiness of her so apparent that the black of the room in his head becomes a nightmare that he can only run away from. Click. She flashes into view, her smile, he caused, so beautiful, so lovely, so sweet and so caring, so amazing, ravishing, astounding, serene, and mocking, taunting, over and over he’s left to stare at the face that he can’t grasp. He can’t have her. I can’t have her. The words embedded into him, nails into his coffin. He’s reminded, reminded of her care and understanding, her sweet words for him and only him. He’s submersed and he’s left to glare at the hypothetical what if, what if, if only, if we do, if we will, if we are, what if’s that continuously haunt him while he makes it clear to himself that never is always next to forever - and all she is is a lost cause, and all he is is an idiot. She loves me? He sits in his bed. She loves me, not. Leaning on his headrest, his mind wanders the contours of her face - She loves me? - knowing, knowing that she, to him is utter perfection, imperfect to the world but perfect, spotless just to him. She loves me, not. Her flaws, what about them? A mystery is what they are, because he loves them, utterly and completely lost in adoration for every speck of dust on the diamond of her. She is a vinyl record, the static and distortion blended in the music is what he longs for. She loves me. No, no her lips say. She loves me, not. He lies in the dark. She loves me. She lies in his mind. She loves me, not. He whispers to no one. I love her. They lie together. Both, intertwined in each others’ thoughts while they ebb away.. drift away.. fade away into dreams forever lost.
Regret ○ by insilico
And the birds, they cry to the stars while my eyes fade to black.
We were lodging at Elly’s parent’s cabin – we being me, Elly, Gabe, his girlfriend Charice, and my two best friends, Amelia and Adrian – and it was the first time we were all bunking together without the excess burden of parental supervision. One could say that the feeling shared by all of us was complete and utter relief from the freedom of weight on our shoulders – and with it, came the ecstasy of having two weeks of peaceful enjoyment. The cabin was luxurious for six suburban teenagers out under the boughs of the forest; three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large kitchen, and a living room all fully furnished and assaulted by sighs and cheers of absolute glee. The centerpiece, of course, was the fridge, completely packed with food to sup and voraciously gorge on thanks in part to the help of Elly’s parents. Along with our complete liberation from the outside world and the paradise that accompanied it, we were absolutely free of plans as well, deciding to take the lucrative route of “winging it.” It was damn refreshing.
The forest was relief for me. She was like a foster sister that protected me from the world I came from; singing me lullabies filled with sweet chirps, deep hoots, and insistent chatter; shading me from the violent, beating hand of an abusive sun. It was from her that I found serenity in the turmoil of my life that was edging me over a cliff, a Siren calling, enticing me to jump into the crashing, blue waves of insanity. This was what I had wanted, what I had longed for ever since Elly excitedly proposed the idea.
In the small clearing where the cabin resided, the breeze flowed freely through the porch where I sat. It danced along the wooden fencing, slowly whispering its sweet voice into my ear while cool hands enticed my skin. It was day three of our trip, and we were all comfortably situated with our small temporal abode. The day was still young and the sun kept its adamant presence, a silent sentinel raining down its warmth. Intermixed with the constant tease of the playful wind, the atmosphere was perfect for the obligatory mountain hike. It was cliché, of course, but still someone had proposed it and with the majority, brimming with the cumulated energy of the last two days, shouting in agreement, all I could do was trudge along. It was either trekking the wilderness with companions or be left alone trapped within the confines of my own mind. I chose the former; besides, it gave me much desired time with Amelia, regardless of the others’ presence. Seven years of friendship, a year of flirting, and a day of awkwardness when she denied my offer to be together and I was still obsessed with her. She was a health and fitness freak with a fetish for running so this hike was like a much needed fix to an addict and I, with the brain embedded in my groin, followed her like a lost puppy. Sue me; she looked absolutely astounding and, sewn together into the fabric of the picturesque scenery, she was my Artemis and I stood there, gaping; her voyeuristic Actaeon. Yes, I was glad I brought my camera.
He touched her forehead. The fat of his lips morphed to her shape and he sucked gently, the air of her skin imprinting itself on his taste buds. His mouth cascaded down feeling the softness of her outlined face, all the while grazing strands of her hair, moving to touch her cheek, then diverting it’s course to meet hers. The darkness of the room was a vacuum, and all the more hiding their intentions from the other. In the ink that surrounded them, his mind closed off the senses: touch becoming but the slightest numbness, sight completely shutting down, succumbed and overpowered by the black void of the landscape, smell reduced to a subtle dull push in the nostrils, sound softening to mute, intimate whispers frozen solid in the air around them. Taste lay untouched. As he kissed her, their tongues melting together like simple butter seeping into the crevices of bread, taste exploded the inner workings of his velvet palate, captivating his desire.
Who did you think of?