A continuation of Mini Golf.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
Rain was pouring down in fat drops and slanted lines, though the sky was bright and blue. White felt clouds were glued to the skyline as we drove along the highway.
He was sitting behind the wheel and I was in the passenger's seat, my feet resting on the dash. "Where are we going?" I asked, tugging on my shoelaces and staring at my legs (shaved smooth the night before, in preparation for seeing him.)
He smiled and glanced at me. "Guess," he dared me devilishly.
I smirked and pulled on the bottoms of my shorts. "I don't know, Rich. The mall?"
He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. "Guess again."
"Mini golf?" I teased him, sticking out my tongue just because I knew he wasn't looking.
His cheeks flushed, but, he didn't say anything. He shook his head again and kept on driving.
I stopped guessing and he stopped telling me too, so we just listened to the rain hitting against the roof of the car. I looked at him once in a while, taking him in in my usual way, still blown away by the vastness of my feelings for him. I wanted him, I needed him, but, I knew I shouldn't have him. Danielle's words popped into my head for the thousandth time: Lil, you know it would crash and burn.
And that much was true. I knew it would crash and burn, but, I couldn't help myself. I still loved looking at his dark hair and how it fell in his face every time he turned his head.
"Can I put on some music?" I asked, resting my feet on the floor of the car and sitting up straight.
Without answering, he handed me his mp3 player. I took it and turned it on, smiling as I scrolled through the songs we both loved so much. I stopped on a Fall Out Boy song (labeled as The Fall Out Boys, one of our jokes) and played it, knowing I could sing along with every word.
"You are a getaway car, a rush of blood to the head, but me, I'm just the covers on top of your bed. You steer away in a rear view mirror, you make my head swim. I keep you warm and won't ask you where you've been," I sang, not looking at him. I didn't have to look to know he was watching out of the corner of his eye and listening sharply.
The guitar was strong and almost overpowered the rain, but, not quite. He joined in singing on the chorus, and we sang together, at the top of our lungs. "Strike us like matches, cause everyone deserves the flames. We only do it for the scars and stories, not the fame. At least everyone is trying, everyone is shining. Everyone deserves the flames but it's such a shame, such a shame."
It had been so long since I had listened to this song and it felt good to let the words slip from my lips again, to feel the chords ring through me again. I loved finding songs again and remembering every second.
"We're not going anywhere, are we?" I asked him quietly.
He didn't hear me over the music or the storm, but, I knew the answer. We were driving, moving, and it felt good. I felt good.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
in a way
copyright julia bydulia.
stream of consciousness off the top of my head because it's how i'm feeling
---
i don't know if you'll read this
and i'm not sure if i care
because all that matters is
i like like you
and i hope you like like me back
because if you repeat a word enough
it can change its meaning
and i want the 'us'
and the 'we' we use to describe ourselves
to double and triple
until the meaning changes
and you are mine
and i am yours
because in a way i've always been yours
and i think i always will be
in a way
stream of consciousness off the top of my head because it's how i'm feeling
---
i don't know if you'll read this
and i'm not sure if i care
because all that matters is
i like like you
and i hope you like like me back
because if you repeat a word enough
it can change its meaning
and i want the 'us'
and the 'we' we use to describe ourselves
to double and triple
until the meaning changes
and you are mine
and i am yours
because in a way i've always been yours
and i think i always will be
in a way
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
These Words Are Real
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
I never planned on pretending to
like the people I didn't or
hate the people I loved, but,
circumstances can change a girl
whether they be complication
and labyrinth-like or
simple like the wooden puzzles
from your kindergarten classrooms.
I never planned on having to ask you
pressing questions that
weigh down on me like a boulder
while I wait for you to answer
and to hopefully relieve me of this
guilty feeling I don't think
I should have.
I made the bed myself
and now I'll have to lie in it
but I won't let you lie to me
about the past, the present, or the future
while you promise you are being honest
like you know everything
and I am a fool.
Honestly, honestly, honestly,
---you are one of my favorite people
---to smile with, and to love
---but I am not going to let you
---act so nonchalant while I
---absorb the peoples' anger
---from every angle, every side.
---
I never planned on pretending to
like the people I didn't or
hate the people I loved, but,
circumstances can change a girl
whether they be complication
and labyrinth-like or
simple like the wooden puzzles
from your kindergarten classrooms.
I never planned on having to ask you
pressing questions that
weigh down on me like a boulder
while I wait for you to answer
and to hopefully relieve me of this
guilty feeling I don't think
I should have.
I made the bed myself
and now I'll have to lie in it
but I won't let you lie to me
about the past, the present, or the future
while you promise you are being honest
like you know everything
and I am a fool.
Honestly, honestly, honestly,
---you are one of my favorite people
---to smile with, and to love
---but I am not going to let you
---act so nonchalant while I
---absorb the peoples' anger
---from every angle, every side.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
No Safety Net
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
Without meaning to, or trying to, or wanting to you snatched me up and held me still when the rest of the world was speeding forward without me.
Even you were moving, getting smaller and smaller until you were a dot on the horizon that I could barely see. Whether I was being blinded or just blindsided was hard to tell at the time.
In the morning, I would always try to keep you away from my mind, from my thoughts. When you sneaked in, you would poison me with the promises I remember you making (and forgetting).
In the afternoon, my bed was rock hard without you there to keep me safe in your arms.
Safe.
The word has warped and twisted into something-some concept-that I scarcely understand now. There is no safety in the insecurity I feel when I walk into a room, alone. That alone-ness is the parting gift you gave to me. It makes my skin crawl.
It was a Saturday. I know it was a year ago, but I remember it. It was a Saturday. That summer was sticky in more ways than one.
You made it seem like a day together. "I'll come over," you told me on the phone that Thursday. "We'll talk, ok? Just me and you."
The bed was soft. I sank into it with you, your arm around my shoulder and your fingers playing with my hair. You whispered the words, every letter like a knife, cutting me, tearing me apart. "I don't love you anymore."
And just like that, it all shattered. I came unglued; I fell apart.
Those little piles of hair surprised me. Who knew I could pull so hard? Pacing and talking in circles, I begged you to take it back. We could forget it and move on. Go get some ice cream, I said. I'll never stop loving you, I said.
You shook your head and slid on your jacket, but, I wasn't having any of that. I grabbed your arm and tried to keep you there with me.
You walked away, though. I wasn't holding on tight enough.
Now, I am alone. The sun burns. Everything burns. Without meaning to, or wanting to, or trying to, you pulled me close to you and held me there in your arms, and in your eyes. Everything but your thoughts.
Now, I'm all alone. No safety net and no more love. Just old CDs to listen to when I need to cry and empty rooms to remind me that you're not here.
---
Without meaning to, or trying to, or wanting to you snatched me up and held me still when the rest of the world was speeding forward without me.
Even you were moving, getting smaller and smaller until you were a dot on the horizon that I could barely see. Whether I was being blinded or just blindsided was hard to tell at the time.
In the morning, I would always try to keep you away from my mind, from my thoughts. When you sneaked in, you would poison me with the promises I remember you making (and forgetting).
In the afternoon, my bed was rock hard without you there to keep me safe in your arms.
Safe.
The word has warped and twisted into something-some concept-that I scarcely understand now. There is no safety in the insecurity I feel when I walk into a room, alone. That alone-ness is the parting gift you gave to me. It makes my skin crawl.
It was a Saturday. I know it was a year ago, but I remember it. It was a Saturday. That summer was sticky in more ways than one.
You made it seem like a day together. "I'll come over," you told me on the phone that Thursday. "We'll talk, ok? Just me and you."
The bed was soft. I sank into it with you, your arm around my shoulder and your fingers playing with my hair. You whispered the words, every letter like a knife, cutting me, tearing me apart. "I don't love you anymore."
And just like that, it all shattered. I came unglued; I fell apart.
Those little piles of hair surprised me. Who knew I could pull so hard? Pacing and talking in circles, I begged you to take it back. We could forget it and move on. Go get some ice cream, I said. I'll never stop loving you, I said.
You shook your head and slid on your jacket, but, I wasn't having any of that. I grabbed your arm and tried to keep you there with me.
You walked away, though. I wasn't holding on tight enough.
Now, I am alone. The sun burns. Everything burns. Without meaning to, or wanting to, or trying to, you pulled me close to you and held me there in your arms, and in your eyes. Everything but your thoughts.
Now, I'm all alone. No safety net and no more love. Just old CDs to listen to when I need to cry and empty rooms to remind me that you're not here.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Requests for the Public
I am taking requests!
I did this when I used to have a LiveJournal and it went fairly well.
There is no limit on the number of requests one person can place.
The requests will be filled in the order they are posted.
Try to specify anything you can about the piece you want written.
Leave prompts in the comments.
I did this when I used to have a LiveJournal and it went fairly well.
There is no limit on the number of requests one person can place.
The requests will be filled in the order they are posted.
Try to specify anything you can about the piece you want written.
Leave prompts in the comments.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A Quick Update
To everyone who has been reading "If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll" (aka Mikayla, Rose, and Kiri):
I am doing some editing on what has been written so far. New material will be coming up again after I finish that editing. Sorry.
I am doing some editing on what has been written so far. New material will be coming up again after I finish that editing. Sorry.
Holly's History
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
He was standing at the front of the room, his tie loose around his neck, holding the meter stick and using it as a pointer. She smiled despite herself at the way he almost spun when he turned around to write notes on the white board.
In front of her, DJ was sitting with her head down, surely scribbling something that had nothing to do with history, the subject of the class they were in the middle of. Behind her, she knew that Chris was sitting with one leg stuck out into the aisle, the other folded up under him as he intently took notes between drawing Pokemon.
The day was bright. Holly sat right next to the window, so it felt like she was in limbo between two completely separate worlds. One with bright green grass, mellow skies, and almost eerie murders of crows gathered; the other with tan, speckled ceiling tiles, tiled linoleum floors, twenty-two indetical chairs and a wall spattered with posters on famous African-Americans.
Her notebook was open and covered in song lyrics that were running through her head. She wrote the artist's name in bold, block letters and ran her fingers through her hair, looking up every so often to capture him in her vision and keep the image in her head.
There was a bass line pumping through her veins. She let it leak out through her pencil and let go of the notes she was supposed to be taking. There were days for history and there were days for this...whatever it was.
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
Holly felt a lot of things. Everything and nothing, all at once.
---
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
He was standing at the front of the room, his tie loose around his neck, holding the meter stick and using it as a pointer. She smiled despite herself at the way he almost spun when he turned around to write notes on the white board.
In front of her, DJ was sitting with her head down, surely scribbling something that had nothing to do with history, the subject of the class they were in the middle of. Behind her, she knew that Chris was sitting with one leg stuck out into the aisle, the other folded up under him as he intently took notes between drawing Pokemon.
The day was bright. Holly sat right next to the window, so it felt like she was in limbo between two completely separate worlds. One with bright green grass, mellow skies, and almost eerie murders of crows gathered; the other with tan, speckled ceiling tiles, tiled linoleum floors, twenty-two indetical chairs and a wall spattered with posters on famous African-Americans.
Her notebook was open and covered in song lyrics that were running through her head. She wrote the artist's name in bold, block letters and ran her fingers through her hair, looking up every so often to capture him in her vision and keep the image in her head.
There was a bass line pumping through her veins. She let it leak out through her pencil and let go of the notes she was supposed to be taking. There were days for history and there were days for this...whatever it was.
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
Holly felt a lot of things. Everything and nothing, all at once.
Friday, May 29, 2009
This Is An Open Letter
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
For Kiri (Like Woah).
---
I consider me.
And I consider you.
--Every night, I sit around on the couch,
-idly flipping my phone open and shut,
open and shut, op--------en and shut.
In the day, too. I contemplate texting you
-and sending you the thoughts I usually
--keep locked up with good intentions
------------------------------------until I forget.
I consider me:
---struggling to keep my voice strong and crystal clear
---with doubts about my flaws and imperfections.
I consider you:
---striking poses and silly faces with unneeded explanations
---about just how attractive you really are.
---It's funny, because you mean to be sarcastic,
---but your words are woven through my memories
---and ring extraordinarily true.
You're a very sweet girl that--- finds herself
in bitter situations, just like ----anyone can.
---You're an honest girl with good intentions
---that I know will get you far.
----This poem and my wild thoughts
------might come on strong when I let you read them,
--------so I hope you can still stand me
----------by the time these words are through.
I consider me;
I consider you.
For Kiri (Like Woah).
---
I consider me.
And I consider you.
--Every night, I sit around on the couch,
-idly flipping my phone open and shut,
open and shut, op--------en and shut.
In the day, too. I contemplate texting you
-and sending you the thoughts I usually
--keep locked up with good intentions
------------------------------------until I forget.
I consider me:
---struggling to keep my voice strong and crystal clear
---with doubts about my flaws and imperfections.
I consider you:
---striking poses and silly faces with unneeded explanations
---about just how attractive you really are.
---It's funny, because you mean to be sarcastic,
---but your words are woven through my memories
---and ring extraordinarily true.
You're a very sweet girl that--- finds herself
in bitter situations, just like ----anyone can.
---You're an honest girl with good intentions
---that I know will get you far.
----This poem and my wild thoughts
------might come on strong when I let you read them,
--------so I hope you can still stand me
----------by the time these words are through.
I consider me;
I consider you.
Mini Golf
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
"Your turn!"
Rich, Danielle, and I were all playing miniature golf. It was Saturday, the course was a little bit soggy and the sky still looked damp from the light rain it had let down that morning. I was wearing my hoodie as protection in case the heavens decided to drench us again. It felt heavy on my shoulders, rolled up to my elbows.
Rich was leaning on his short golf club with its pink handle, staring at me intently while both of them waited for me to take my turn. He had shaggy brown hair and a long straight nose on which he wore a new piercing each day. Now, most times seeing a guy with a nose piercing is tacky, gross, weird, or a combination of all three. But, somehow seeing it on Rich every day just works. It does that on some people. He was tall and skinny with a lot of promise to keep getting taller without gaining an ounce of weight (if I could only be so lucky) like those trees they plant at the park when they "landscape" it.
I picked up my golf club (complete with a purple handle) and walked toward my bright yellow ball, sitting about ten feet away from the hole. I always felt like a giant on mini golf courses, even as a little kid, but, especially now, standing almost six feet tall while eight and nine year olds wait their turn with their mothers and fathers at other holes.
"Are we a little old for mini golf?" I ask, lining up the club, the ball, and the hole in my sights.
Danielle shook her head and beat her club against the green (is that stuff supposed to look like grass?). "How could you say such a thing? Blasphemy!"
I laughed and hit the ball roughly in the direction of the hole, missing it by about two inches. "Damn," I muttered, trying to be quiet enough to spare the children their innocence.
Rich stood up straight and strutted toward his magenta ball with purpose. "Move over girly," he said to me, pushing me slightly out of the way. "Watch how a real man plays his mini golf." He cleared his throat and shook out his arms before planting his feet and lining up the club and the ball and the hole exactly as I had done.
"A real man, huh? Do all real men wear their sister's prom dress?" I asked, smirking and waiting for him to look up.
He didn't, though. He spoke to his gold club and the green carpet-grass-thingy under his feet when he responded. "That was one time. I was nine. And you will not--"
"Let you forget it," I finished for him as he clenched his teeth and tried to relax his golf stance.
He failed.
Danielle was sniggering to herself, leaning on her gold club as Rick had casually been doing just a minute before. She had long, chocolate brown hair that reached the middle of her back when she wore it down. Then, she was wearing it up in a sloppy ponytail to keep it from making the humidity unbearable. She was nearly as tall as Rich with mountainous breasts (compared to my anthills) and a curvy physique. She was the best dressed fat girl at our school, and she knew it as well as everyone else.
When Rich finally took a swing at his ball, it flew off the green and into the rocks and he banged his club against one of the fake rocks that was scattered through the course.
"Rich. Time to take a deep breath and take the par five that you deserve. Move along," I instructed him. Danielle marked both of our par fives on the score card, underneath her par two, and we all walked down the cheesey stone path to the last hole.
"This is the big one. Sure you to ameteurs can handle it?" Danielle set her ball down at the beginning of the course and planted her feet the same way Rich did. She was the Queen of Mini Golf. We always played the castle course at at the end, Danielle would climb on one of its walls and announce that we were all her "loyal servants." It made me laugh and it made Rich scowl. I still wasn't quite sure why he still came to our mini golf shindigs.
I scoffed at Danielle. "You are going down, Smitherson. So. Far. Down."
She just laughed and swung her club, sending the ball directly into the first hole which sent it down to the next level. We all leaned over the railing to see it emerge from the pipe on the second level of the hole.
"Hole in ONE!" Danielle screeched, already halfway through her victory dance as I set down my ball to take my turn. "What's that? Three total? OH YEAH."
I laughed and tapped my ball politely, not wanting to hurt its feelings. I landed in the hole, but, when my ball emerged on the second level, it landed right next to the last hole instead of in it. I grunted in frustration and kicked the railing as Rich set down his ball. I crossed my fingers in my pockets for him, not wanting my good luck to be stolen by Danielle's eyes. It was for Rich.
His ball landed in the first hole and all three of us leaned over the railing, eager for a hole in one. Rich's ball rolled out of the pipe below and kept on rolling. Instead of ending up in the hole, his knocked mine inside and remained in mini golf limbo, directly on the edge of the hole.
He rushed down the stairs and started throwing a fit right next to the ball, screaming at it and banging his golf club all over the place as if the ball could hear and the club could feel.
"Are we going to get thrown out again?" I asked Danielle.
She shook her head, laughing. "I doubt it, but, he should probably try to avoid bending that club."
I smiled at him and nudged Danielle. "You know, I technically only hit my ball once--"
"Shut up. It counts as two, you mini golf loo-ooser." She bumped my hip with hers and swished away down the stairs.
I stayed up top, leaning on the banister and watching the two people I loved the most: one in a way we both understood, and another in a way I was too scared to communicate. Rich made my heart race, and not just because of his short temper. Something about those bottle-green eyes--
"LILIAN GET YOUR LOSER ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE GOING OUT FOR ICE CREAM!" Danielle screamed at me. Rich was sitting, defeated, on the ground while Danielle started cabbage patching all over the course.
I laughed and started down the stairs.
---
"Your turn!"
Rich, Danielle, and I were all playing miniature golf. It was Saturday, the course was a little bit soggy and the sky still looked damp from the light rain it had let down that morning. I was wearing my hoodie as protection in case the heavens decided to drench us again. It felt heavy on my shoulders, rolled up to my elbows.
Rich was leaning on his short golf club with its pink handle, staring at me intently while both of them waited for me to take my turn. He had shaggy brown hair and a long straight nose on which he wore a new piercing each day. Now, most times seeing a guy with a nose piercing is tacky, gross, weird, or a combination of all three. But, somehow seeing it on Rich every day just works. It does that on some people. He was tall and skinny with a lot of promise to keep getting taller without gaining an ounce of weight (if I could only be so lucky) like those trees they plant at the park when they "landscape" it.
I picked up my golf club (complete with a purple handle) and walked toward my bright yellow ball, sitting about ten feet away from the hole. I always felt like a giant on mini golf courses, even as a little kid, but, especially now, standing almost six feet tall while eight and nine year olds wait their turn with their mothers and fathers at other holes.
"Are we a little old for mini golf?" I ask, lining up the club, the ball, and the hole in my sights.
Danielle shook her head and beat her club against the green (is that stuff supposed to look like grass?). "How could you say such a thing? Blasphemy!"
I laughed and hit the ball roughly in the direction of the hole, missing it by about two inches. "Damn," I muttered, trying to be quiet enough to spare the children their innocence.
Rich stood up straight and strutted toward his magenta ball with purpose. "Move over girly," he said to me, pushing me slightly out of the way. "Watch how a real man plays his mini golf." He cleared his throat and shook out his arms before planting his feet and lining up the club and the ball and the hole exactly as I had done.
"A real man, huh? Do all real men wear their sister's prom dress?" I asked, smirking and waiting for him to look up.
He didn't, though. He spoke to his gold club and the green carpet-grass-thingy under his feet when he responded. "That was one time. I was nine. And you will not--"
"Let you forget it," I finished for him as he clenched his teeth and tried to relax his golf stance.
He failed.
Danielle was sniggering to herself, leaning on her gold club as Rick had casually been doing just a minute before. She had long, chocolate brown hair that reached the middle of her back when she wore it down. Then, she was wearing it up in a sloppy ponytail to keep it from making the humidity unbearable. She was nearly as tall as Rich with mountainous breasts (compared to my anthills) and a curvy physique. She was the best dressed fat girl at our school, and she knew it as well as everyone else.
When Rich finally took a swing at his ball, it flew off the green and into the rocks and he banged his club against one of the fake rocks that was scattered through the course.
"Rich. Time to take a deep breath and take the par five that you deserve. Move along," I instructed him. Danielle marked both of our par fives on the score card, underneath her par two, and we all walked down the cheesey stone path to the last hole.
"This is the big one. Sure you to ameteurs can handle it?" Danielle set her ball down at the beginning of the course and planted her feet the same way Rich did. She was the Queen of Mini Golf. We always played the castle course at at the end, Danielle would climb on one of its walls and announce that we were all her "loyal servants." It made me laugh and it made Rich scowl. I still wasn't quite sure why he still came to our mini golf shindigs.
I scoffed at Danielle. "You are going down, Smitherson. So. Far. Down."
She just laughed and swung her club, sending the ball directly into the first hole which sent it down to the next level. We all leaned over the railing to see it emerge from the pipe on the second level of the hole.
"Hole in ONE!" Danielle screeched, already halfway through her victory dance as I set down my ball to take my turn. "What's that? Three total? OH YEAH."
I laughed and tapped my ball politely, not wanting to hurt its feelings. I landed in the hole, but, when my ball emerged on the second level, it landed right next to the last hole instead of in it. I grunted in frustration and kicked the railing as Rich set down his ball. I crossed my fingers in my pockets for him, not wanting my good luck to be stolen by Danielle's eyes. It was for Rich.
His ball landed in the first hole and all three of us leaned over the railing, eager for a hole in one. Rich's ball rolled out of the pipe below and kept on rolling. Instead of ending up in the hole, his knocked mine inside and remained in mini golf limbo, directly on the edge of the hole.
He rushed down the stairs and started throwing a fit right next to the ball, screaming at it and banging his golf club all over the place as if the ball could hear and the club could feel.
"Are we going to get thrown out again?" I asked Danielle.
She shook her head, laughing. "I doubt it, but, he should probably try to avoid bending that club."
I smiled at him and nudged Danielle. "You know, I technically only hit my ball once--"
"Shut up. It counts as two, you mini golf loo-ooser." She bumped my hip with hers and swished away down the stairs.
I stayed up top, leaning on the banister and watching the two people I loved the most: one in a way we both understood, and another in a way I was too scared to communicate. Rich made my heart race, and not just because of his short temper. Something about those bottle-green eyes--
"LILIAN GET YOUR LOSER ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE GOING OUT FOR ICE CREAM!" Danielle screamed at me. Rich was sitting, defeated, on the ground while Danielle started cabbage patching all over the course.
I laughed and started down the stairs.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunflower
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
This is the first time in a while that I am going to be writing something really original.
---
Yellow and brown.
I looked the flower in the face and clenched my fist tight, resting it on the table in front of me, just inches away from the vase the flower was in.
I'm not sure why I saved the thing. I never wanted it. I tried to convince him not to give it to me, but, rejecting the gift would crush him and I knew that.
I released my fist and laid my palm flat on the table, its cold surface dragging down the temperature of my hot hand.
"I read somewhere that the sunflower represents foolish passion... and the sun, obviously. I got you the biggest one that the florist had."
He was so happy to be standing in front of me with that big, stupid flower. His smile was crooked, like it always was, and his eyes were shining, bright and blue.
I tried to smile, but, I knew it looked about as unhappy as I felt. I took the flower after arguing with him over it for a few minutes, then I walked to my car as fast as I could.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, burning a hole in my bumper as I drove home.
Yellow and brown.
The vase was clear and I could see the stem drinking, thirsty from the long, dry voyage to my house.
It's hard to say no when the only questions you're asked scream 'YES!'
His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the flower, and I could tell that he got his hopes up that I would reach back for a second touch. He was relishing in the feel of our skins together. I was not.
"Thanks, Danny."
I was nervous he would expect more. I wanted to leave more than anything.
My heart felt yellow and brown, but, not like a sunflower.
My heart felt yellow and brown, like a bruise.
This is the first time in a while that I am going to be writing something really original.
---
Yellow and brown.
I looked the flower in the face and clenched my fist tight, resting it on the table in front of me, just inches away from the vase the flower was in.
I'm not sure why I saved the thing. I never wanted it. I tried to convince him not to give it to me, but, rejecting the gift would crush him and I knew that.
I released my fist and laid my palm flat on the table, its cold surface dragging down the temperature of my hot hand.
"I read somewhere that the sunflower represents foolish passion... and the sun, obviously. I got you the biggest one that the florist had."
He was so happy to be standing in front of me with that big, stupid flower. His smile was crooked, like it always was, and his eyes were shining, bright and blue.
I tried to smile, but, I knew it looked about as unhappy as I felt. I took the flower after arguing with him over it for a few minutes, then I walked to my car as fast as I could.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, burning a hole in my bumper as I drove home.
Yellow and brown.
The vase was clear and I could see the stem drinking, thirsty from the long, dry voyage to my house.
It's hard to say no when the only questions you're asked scream 'YES!'
His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the flower, and I could tell that he got his hopes up that I would reach back for a second touch. He was relishing in the feel of our skins together. I was not.
"Thanks, Danny."
I was nervous he would expect more. I wanted to leave more than anything.
My heart felt yellow and brown, but, not like a sunflower.
My heart felt yellow and brown, like a bruise.
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