authors note: Your comments seriously motivate me guys, I've never churned out writing like this before! Please tell me who you'd like me to do next.
She was his. She did not know this, she had no idea, but in his mind, in that comforting place where he creates a happy life for himself, she was his. She loved him, and she touched him with the same touches she gave to him and she was completely and totally his.
She's not his anymore. She's gone, and she will never return and she will never be his because she belongs only to the waves that took her life. He thinks it must be terrible to drown. He thinks it would be better to burn to death, because he doesn't think he could gasp for air and get nothing but water and not drive himself to madness before death.
He misses her. He misses her so badly that he aches all over, and he awakens in the middle of the night and finds his sheets all clawed up.
He remembers their first and last kiss, brutal and passionate and raw and everything he'd wanted it to be. He longed to kiss her again, but he wasn't the good guy. He didn't get to.
The good guy spends his days acting stoic and crying in the dark, so loudly that half the school hears him as he screams her name as if it will bring her back.
He is not the good guy. He's not going to cry, he's going to keep it in. Because that is where it belongs, just like all of his memories of her. He finds that he thinks back often to their kiss. His lips still burn.
She was his. She did not know this, she had no idea, but in his mind, in that comforting place where he creates a happy life for himself, she was his. She loved him, and she touched him with the same touches she gave to him and she was completely and totally his.
She's not his anymore. She's gone, and she will never return and she will never be his because she belongs only to the waves that took her life. He thinks it must be terrible to drown. He thinks it would be better to burn to death, because he doesn't think he could gasp for air and get nothing but water and not drive himself to madness before death.
He misses her. He misses her so badly that he aches all over, and he awakens in the middle of the night and finds his sheets all clawed up.
He remembers their first and last kiss, brutal and passionate and raw and everything he'd wanted it to be. He longed to kiss her again, but he wasn't the good guy. He didn't get to.
The good guy spends his days acting stoic and crying in the dark, so loudly that half the school hears him as he screams her name as if it will bring her back.
He is not the good guy. He's not going to cry, he's going to keep it in. Because that is where it belongs, just like all of his memories of her. He finds that he thinks back often to their kiss. His lips still burn.