9.
7.25.11
Café au lait
JamesOCLouis
bloom, mythology, freestyle
"Just forget him," James told her. He didn't want to sound like he was pleading but he couldn't deny that it was exactly what he was doing, just like how he couldn't deny that his feelings for her continued to bloom as hers faded, or that he didn't blame her at all because Louis was so perfect, perfect for her. Louis was café au lait while James was black coffee with no sugar. Louis was a poem in freestyle while James was a boring one-liner. Louis was smart and funny and handsome and nice and all James had going for him was his last name.
"Who cares about Louis?" James said, taking her chin in his fingers and looking into her eyes. He always used to think she looked rather like those gods in Greek mythology—all lush blonde hair, big blue eyes, redred lips. She could've been the goddess of love or something. But right now, she just looked like a plain old girl, a plain old girl about to make a very important decision.
"Forget about him," he said again. "I'm here. Just forget him."
There was a moment of silence, then—
"I can't," she said, and he lost her.