I never know how I'd end up here, alone.
It's been a few weeks since Sol spoke to me, you did that often. I'd sit in bed like a depressed Prince Johnathan, awaiting news of David. I felt like you couldn't care less, and maybe you didn't then, maybe you'd prefer if I'd rot there in my room -- amusing myself with particles of dust as I lost my mind slowly.
The golden flecks danced around my hand where the single ray of sunlight was. I liked how it looked, it felt surreal, like I wasn't real.
Just. Dust.
My parents were mad at me again, how I always managed to care the most about you, how I always felt a little lost when you weren't around.
My phone makes a noise and I instantly flee to it, almost falling off my top bunk, but it's only spam.
Why do you insist on torturing me so?
I rubbed the blankets on my palms, trying to get a grip on at least something. Describe it, lower me back to earth ... it doesn't work.
We didn't get in trouble, even though I was picked up looking like a wreck. My eyeliner was smudged, my hair that I spent hours on: poof.
I told them we got into an argument with some litterers, and they dumped the drink on me. They offered to call the police, but I insisted not to. I don't think they'd be able to handle ... me.
"So, do you think you'll ever come out one day?"
We were in the park, reading those books.
I shook my head. I know my parents, they'd never allow it. "And you?"
"I want to be out, one day, when I'm ready. I want to live in a house far away, with you."
You always said things like that, then run away.
Soleil, you make me wonder ... do you love me or not?
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Is Ours
Short Story"Us at midday was perfect, but I'm not perfect. I'm messy, nothing on earth could make me a sunrise like you. I'm as sunset as sunset could get. Thus, when the sun has died and midday is no longer, midnight is ours." In a well-awaited sequel of Us A...
