Being Yours
The first time I fell in love, I fell so hard that I hit the ground and rolled out of my home, out of my town, out of my state. Out of my mind. I fell so hard and when I finally got to my feet, I took off running.
It is a long path of hot coals, a trail of slippery ice, a road of foreign tortures and pain, but at the end of it all, there she is, sitting in a booth with her hair up in the hood of her jacket. I know she is. I can feel it.
I walk and walk and walk. My feet are rubbed raw and there are blisters forming in between my toes, skin sacs bulbous with fluid. The fragile ones pop inside my socks as I walk. The tenacious ones grow larger and larger, screaming from the friction as the inside of my shoe rubs against them. But the biggest blister is the one that grows on my heart, that fills to its capacity as it rubs against the agitating surface of loneliness in my chest.
I am hungry, so hungry. Smells of fast food waft into my nose as I pass restaurants, greasy fries, sticky apple strudels, even the despised scent of hamburger meat. But no time, there is not a minute to spare to stop walking. I eat as I stride along, devouring a granola bar as I walk along the side of ME-111 W. It leaves me feeling empty, even hungrier. But I don't stop. The only hunger that matters is the starvation for her touch, for her embrace and her kiss and her voice.
I feel afraid. When people on the street walk toward me, my stomach sinks with dread. Every man, woman, and child becomes a potential murderer or kidnapper. Every dog tied in front of a store might break away from its chains and maul me to death. Every alleyway holds sex-traffickers in wait of their next victim and every picket-fenced home is inhabited by a crazy, childless woman who will lure me inside with the promise of comfort and safety only to tie me in her basement and never release me. But I ignore the constant pounding in my heart. The worst fear, the most rational, is the fear that she is gone and I will never see her cruel, lovely face again.
So I walk. I walk and I walk and I walk. And soon I am there, dirty and exhausted and starving, but I am there, and I see her in the window and I begin to cry with relief. Everything, I suddenly feel as I watch her pick at the cuff of her sweatshirt sleeve as she sits inside the booth with her legs pulled up to her chest, Everything is going to be okay.
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Breathe Me || Completed
Teen Fiction❝On our last day of third grade, Mrs. Vesper gave us a bit of a goodbye speech. "Good luck in your lives," I remember her saying. "Stay out of trouble. You all have such potential." Then finally, she said, "Now, why don't we all say bye-bye to Twig...
