ADORE, c.springer

1

Exception ✧.*

I live with your kiss

I die with your rejection

I lay with your deceit

Rise with your truth

I burn in your passion, melt in your indifference

Exception ✧.*

No other, No other

No other

No other

No thoughts left to hover

As you remain my exception

Fueled with needs of redemption

I let you become my only exception.

Junior year of college, excitement is quite at large for you. Three years, nothing particularly new is in order this year. There never is. You slip your journal back into your purse, your pencil along with it. "Aye, let's cut up outta here?" Lucette taps her nails against the white and grey marble island of your shared kitchen. "Honestly, no but college ain't free so gotta get my money's worth," You glide out of the grey stool, pulling your bag over your shoulder. Letting the bottoms of your cool grey 11's hit the wooden floor of your home. 

"If that ain't the truth," Lucette sighs with a short giggle, her loose 3b black curls sway over her shoulder, resting behind them as her silver jewelry covered hand slips under them, wrapping under her neck as she uses her claw like nails to fluff the back. 

You make your out, and take your plain commute to school. 

So bland.

Everything is so bland.

You wonder why of all lives, the universe placed you with this one, the life of a robot.

Arrive at school, go to homeroom, have your peace bothered by the unnecessary pester of sitting in a classroom. You go through your day, class after class, pointlessly, you head to the park a bit, you make time for the library, you get a drink from starbucks, aimlessly filling your time until your most anticipated time of day comes along. Not so much a book club but not so much a open mic, you sit in and listen to the sparks that fly from the writers room. 

Some journalists, some poets, some songwriters but all fueled with a want, a skill for something far more greater than what is expected. The way words together say so much and so little, they break into your ears and fill your brain. 

It's 8:35pm, you hope this lasts a long time, you hope that today, today you'll find the courage to share and to let your grand voice be heard, you watch intently as Tanelle stands from her seat, holding her book in hand, she clears her throat, her pink lips quiver a bit and her nose twitches like a bunny as the ivory skinned girl prepares as she debates whether she should expose her minds deepest corners with a bright light for those in this room.

She opens her mouth, it remains agape for a short moment of time and your eyes meet a small squint as you await, hoping that solely greatness escapes her. 

"This is Black Rain, by me Tanelle Sudon," she speaks softly, shyly. Her voice light like and airy like the warmth of the sun on skin.

"When our empty world spins silently
And black rains gently wash the sky
As the fervent sun shines ferociously
Upon forgotten seas that have boiled dry.

Those hopes and dreams of yesterday
Distant, now float lost upon the breeze
Like carved out names on summer days
Forgotten memories adorn fallen trees.

As Gods outnumber worshippers again
Whose long forlorn battles are now done
As smoke, it will be too late to ponder then
Just exactly what they lost and they'd won.

No poets then left to scar the empty page
Of stories that tell of scorned loves gone by
Or to write final epitaphs that gracefully age
From old ink wells that have long run dry.

No more will ugly minds chance to disgrace
when the power games have all but ended
In a blink of time, Earth back to the Universe
Without any greed, just as nature had intended...."

(This is Black Rain by Deep Dark Soul)

Snaps fill the empty ambiance of the room, happily, contently, she sits back down, she spares her thank you's short and hopes her nervous smiles suffices. 

You look around, considering if what you have to contribute says more, but you settle those thoughts down. You sniffle, a game in your head playing and running laps around your humor. You see yourself, in your cowgirl get up, lassoing your thoughts like a horse. Controlling them, silencing them. 

The scene in your mind is far from a reflection of your true settings, you're in the auditorium, the third row, slouching into your seat, the red fabric of the chair smells good, floral scented, not quite the best cause some flowers reek, but some are great, so the light mix along with the natural scents of the world, plus the open windows, letting the cool air that has been flavored by the taste of rain seep against your skin. 

A shadow passes your peripheral vision, you glimpse quickly, noticing how the person is trying their best to remain unseen. A dark grey hoodie pulled deep over their head, black baggy sweats that you noticed when he-they bucked their hips up in attempt to adjust their seating. They have black cat 4's on and it almost sends a tingle in you, you lift your feet up into your seat, changing your straight up seating position to now having your legs tilted with you in your seat. 

You graze your nails, fingertips over the sides of your shoes. You hum slightly, you stare shortly at Marelina, she doesn't take notice to the new person sitting into our session. 

He spreads his legs apart, bumping the left foot up and down, up and down. He's eager? Eager yet he doesn't want to be seen. An odd match. You ponder your head, looking for an analogy, a metaphor to reduce him to. To make him no more than something words can say in a way that takes your mind for a spin.

Only because you're bored, not because he's caught any sort of your attention because when he slips out you don't notice, not til you look again out of the corner of your eye and his figure is no longer there.

"I think we can wrap this up for today how about you, all?" she asks, patiently, you were to focused on-focusing on analyzing people and what not that you didn't take in the deciphering of Tanelle's piece. You feel bashful internally, embarrassed at yourself over something so little that nobody else noticed. 

You let yourself get so distracted over nothing that you missed what you came here for. To understand. 

You straighten back out, putting your legs onto the floor, at attention to Marelina. Her brown hair swings behind her, the ends slipping above the arch of her butt as she walks towards a pile of papers, pointing at them with her tawny brown colored finger, "Make sure to pick up a flyer if you're interested and tell your friends, I'm very excited to be hosting this years 'Tell It All' at the den, so please show up and out," she's asking in a joking tone but she's begging, pleading to not be embarrassed. 

People stand, getting flyers and leaving, some find themselves talking for too long in the parking lot but not you. 

You get up and out of there, wishing you had contributed something today. Wishing something had happened for you today. Something worth telling, writing. You hate to feel you write what does not exist, or is it that it doesn't exist for you? You ponder this as you read the flyer over while walking towards your car. 

The Tell It All, it's like an open mic, where anyone who writes anything can present it, a song, a rap, a poem, a story, a chapter, a journalist's best piece, everything. And you know its jammin, cause it's being held in every college students favorite place, The Den. (Yes, the one from Moesha)

You think to yourself, maybe this would be your time to shine, or maybe you'll go mute again.

Keeping all your brilliance to yourself.