This is not a love story like you see in the movies or in books, but it's a love story, in it's own right. This love story takes place not on a beach or in a small town, but mostly on the leather bench seat of an old car, sat with two handsome yet broken brothers to my left and right and in the backseat behind me, an angel of God, whoever that is.
We didn't have spats, we fist faught. I always won, and not because he let me. We spent our nights not in his bed or mine, because neither owned one; instead we spent our nights together on highways or in motel sheets. In place of dinner dates and movies, we listend to Radio Head and ate really cheap gas station food. We should've been making a life for ourselves, getting married, having babies; Instead we killed creatures that lived for the soul purpose of hurting or killing people and sent demons back to the firey depths of hell where they belonged. "Saving people, hunting things."
We didn't fall in love in a normal way, because we weren't normal people. That didn't mean I loved him any less. Or that the way we loved was wrong. It was just unconventional. And in these days, what isn't at the least a little unconventional? I know it sounds crazy. I know it sounds impossible. But it's real, his hand in mine as we run is real. And that's what keeps me sane.
This story is not a sappy-hopelessly-romantic love story. It won't make you heart burst from sheer beauty or anything, unless you heart prefers love stories that involve the two lovers yelling and fighting and nearly tearing each other's heads off, when they aren't fighting demons and other malicous creatures. But, I don't know. Mine does. Some hearts are strange.
We didn't have spats, we fist faught. I always won, and not because he let me. We spent our nights not in his bed or mine, because neither owned one; instead we spent our nights together on highways or in motel sheets. In place of dinner dates and movies, we listend to Radio Head and ate really cheap gas station food. We should've been making a life for ourselves, getting married, having babies; Instead we killed creatures that lived for the soul purpose of hurting or killing people and sent demons back to the firey depths of hell where they belonged. "Saving people, hunting things."
We didn't fall in love in a normal way, because we weren't normal people. That didn't mean I loved him any less. Or that the way we loved was wrong. It was just unconventional. And in these days, what isn't at the least a little unconventional? I know it sounds crazy. I know it sounds impossible. But it's real, his hand in mine as we run is real. And that's what keeps me sane.
This story is not a sappy-hopelessly-romantic love story. It won't make you heart burst from sheer beauty or anything, unless you heart prefers love stories that involve the two lovers yelling and fighting and nearly tearing each other's heads off, when they aren't fighting demons and other malicous creatures. But, I don't know. Mine does. Some hearts are strange.