written in the stars
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oneshot.
and for a brief flashing moment, you almost believe his sinisterly sweetening sickly words.
And then you wake up with a jolt.
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You hold onto his honey sweet words, as if they would mean something, say, perhaps ten years from now. His words are so earnest and genuine-sounding that it's impossible to doubt his pure motivations.
And when he kisses you, not only does your atmosphere melt into cliché fairy tale classics, but your erratic racing heart is not only pounding but it is threatening to leap right out of your chest.
When he holds your hand, you could swear that not only did all of the stars align but the constellations were so bright, clear, and blatant that when you two laid under the blanket of stars, three little deal-breaking words burned on the tip of your tongue.
Not only did was his voice sweet as honey-dew but his smile was so heartbreakingly beautiful, the keys of piano notes couldn't even compare; not even Paris' beauty could just his beautiful lopsided grin.
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In that brief moment, not only did the clock with the off-white background, black little barely-visible-dashes, and coal black thin hands, tick valuable seconds away, but the beating of your heart abruptly halted when he smoothed out crinkled and wrinkled dry words.
"You what?" You could swear your heart cracked/shattered/dismembered/crippled/lost/broke/crumpled/stopped when the barely audible words were mouthed from his once-kissable lips.
"I'm sorry," his words were a million miles away from you two. His eyes were distanced with framed coal black lashes, a contradicting glint and a deceiving favorably upset frown.
It was a slow motion moment, his usually warm, comforting touch reaching for your shoulder; his touch was cold, uninviting, and bitter; like his feigned apology.
"You'll forgive me, right?"
His words hung heavily in the air, hanging with rusted chains that were prepared to snap; the tapered smiles, the deceiving promises, the thousands of wasted kisses… it's all been one big fat truculent lie.
The agreement was caught in your throat, the lingering taste of bitter brutal hoarse apologies, the stammer of amendments and lies, the disgusting taste of forgiveness, all latched to the roof of your throat. Your mouth wouldn't open to form the simple, spellbinding, accepting phrase.
He noted your reluctance with weary azure irises, traces of worrisome glinting under the sun's glaring rays. He was no fool; he knew precisely which buttons to press to earn his way.
"You know I love you, and only you," his familiar spiel had begun. The familiar words should've been comforting—they were meant to assure you, "And she was a mistake. My heart belongs to you."
In that time-stolen, bone-frozen moment, you wanted to leap into his eager and awaiting arms, accept his practiced apologies, swallow and forget your bitingly harsh bitterness. You wanted to stare into those cerulean star-like, infamous orbs, you wanted to memorize the features and bone structures that made up his face, you wanted to kiss his lips so hard that you saw stars, and most of all, you wanted to simply forget all about his lies and slam your eyes shut so the truth wouldn't be so blatantly obvious.
And for a brief flashing moment, you almost believe his sinisterly sweetening sickly words.
And then you wake up with a jolt.
You realize that the stars don't always shine, sometimes the clouds melt over them, blocking the stars from viewing points, you realize that you've always memorized all his features on his face, you realize you've already jumped into his awaiting muscular familiar arms, you realize you've already gazed into his blue depths, you realize you've already forgiven and forgotten.
Then you realize your names were never meant to be scribbled with loopy, messy, pretty handwriting among the mythological constellations.
"You'll take me back, right?"
"No. Not anymore."
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Review?
-another moment gone-