bluedveins
"hey, remember the first day we met?" he asks, looking over the bridge and down to the water below.
"…no," you stammer, voice uneven, and he smiles.
"the sky gave birth to the stars that night," he says, then turns to face you.
"what would you do if there were a boy drowning down there, drowning in your love?"
"i wouldn't save him," you reply, and you give him a small smile.
he has a heart made of flecks of metal; iron, steel, copper, the works.
his heart short-circuits when he meets an awkwardly lanky boy in a quaint little coffee shop. he can't seem to get it work again.
sometimes, i feel like i only know you while you're sound asleep.
i'd trace my fingers over the slope of your nose, down the edge of your jaw, and i sense familiarity. but then you'd wake up, and i won't know you anymore.
one day, we'll all be encased in metal. our ability to think, feel, love will be gone.
bet you'd like that.
you're one already anyways.
"you're the spark to my gasoline," he says, all red cheeks and mismatched eyes.
"you'll be what takes us burning by storm," he finishes, and you smile back at him.
he gawks.
"what?" you say, and he blinks.
"you're amazing," he says, a hint of awe in his voice.
"what?" you repeat yourself.
"you. the essence of everything perfect," he tries to clarify.
you snort, although the tint of pink on your cheekbones give it away. "you're insane, crazy, out of this world."
"only with you," he declares, lopsided grin splitting across his face.
"i have a severe problem," he says, eyes sad and downcast.
"what?"
"i think i made a really bad mistake," he says, but you see past the 'sadness' and you spot the gleam of mischief hidden in his brown orbs.
"oh, that's okay, as long as i'm your mistake," you say, and turn back to the TV where mario kart's on the screen.
you used to tell me to make a mistake, that you'd be my mistake.
that got old real quick.
you see, whenever you'd hold me close then push me away, that just made you seem less perfect and rounded around the corners.
sooner or later, you'd be a piece of machinery, and the time would come for me to dispose of the old and obsolete.
there aren't any books on his shelf.
if you were to look, you'd see glass jars filled with tears, laughter, and hearts.
there might be boxes of memories with their lids stuck, and perhaps a vase of withered flowers tucked away in a corner.
so i guess you couldn't really consider this a bookshelf, can you?
"do you know what it's like to be really thirsty?"
you look up at him, at his doe eyes and full (dry, cracked) lips.
"no."
"it's when you crave for the coolness of fingers on your neck and the smoothness of someone's voice in your ears telling you that they're there. that, is the best thirst-quencher for a lonely heart one can ever ask for."