SEPTEMBER 29th, 1991 •LOS OLIVOS, CALIFORNIA• NEVERLAND VALLEY RANCH __________
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˗ˏˋ MICHAEL 'ˎ˗
~★~
An incredible rush of unfinished business dealt its worst against me; I was still an impotent fool for her. The crevices and nooks of the love that had grown tainted over the course of almost a decade was delectably sugared with the brisk brushes of appeal that would seemingly bring resolve to the bitterness— almost like adding sweetener to a morning coffee. But coffee can only stay heated for a certain amount of time until it chills; although the sweetness still remains. What good is cold coffee if your palate yearns for it to be steaming?
Or maybe I had been asking for far too much. My desperation and need to belong once centered around a world of individuals who adore me and now, it circulates around one person.
"Good morning Michael."
You.
"Good morning Brooke."
My fingers tangled within her blonde, voluminous tresses. A playful fit of whining was displayed on her end, urging me to stop my attempts at soothing her scalp so that her bed hair wouldn't be too unruly. I watched as the sunrise peaked from the slots of the sheer curtains that draped overhead, casting onto Brooke's facial features and parts of her body. It was most certainly a sight to see.
"I wish we could stay like this... forever," she professed, snuggling her head into the one thing I knew she loved most about me; my chest. It was a safe haven for her— I recollect her saying. "Away from everyone... the fans... the media..."
"As nice as that sounds," my diaphragm relaxed, releasing the air that had been pent up within the walls of my lungs. "We both can't run away from what calls us. You're walking tonight, right?"
"Yes and I'd love for you to be there."
"I'm shooting for Black or White all day and night, I can make the next walk—"
"You're not going to come to Milan," she whined with a subtle growl, her blue irises coming in contact with the sunlight. Her well trimmed brows curved in the most perplexing shape as her manicured index finger traced along the brown patches of my skin. "You're still working on your album."
"A day or two away wouldn't hurt Bruce," I dragged with apprehension, knowing my absence would be an issue. "I've got a few demos to skim through and videos to shoot but you know I'd make time for you, right?"
"So you say," she huffed childishly, a ghost of a smirk etching on her pink, dried lips. "But remember when you ditched me for that— that charity thing? You were out all night."
