gailynb
He left without a word. Just as he had entered, he and exited. I sat there, bare except for my blanket, wondering how I could get him to stay next time. Wondering what it would it take to keep him by my side. Forever.
The way the sweet juice spills over my lips. The sweet and spiciness of this fruit, always reminding me of you, my little Mango. I miss the way you used to touch me, the way you used to look at me. My darling little Mango.
The smell of it, wrapped around each golden strand of her curly hair, is the only thing I look forward to when I think about walking into that office on a cold, brisk Monday morning. My wife only smells of baby formula.
The pool of blood had the look of chocolate syrup, but the harsh, aged smell of copper. She wasn't sorry, not at all for what she had just done. She loved him after all. Always had, and always will. She wasn't worried, he'd be waiting for her on the other side.
It was a thought, a stupid and selfish thought. I was young, and depressed, and looking for the easiest way out. The pills were just so easy to get a hold of. I regret ever thinking this way. Suicide is a bittersweet kind of dark, morose, and cheap bottle of wine.
My Darkroom is my sanction, my church, my mosque, my cathedral. When I am drowned by the darkness in this room I am in my clearest state of mind. It is here that I become the person I am okay with being.
My bones and brain turn to jelly at the thought of you. Seeing you puts me in comatose. I do not understand what it is about your being that makes it so hard for me to exist in front of you. It's as if you have some strange hold over me. A hold I can not get out of.
Words are so strong, yet so hard to speak. For instance, I want to say "I love you" it feels so powerful, so true. But I am far too weak to mumble such a beautiful sentence. Maybe, if I printed it out, and gave it to you, it'd be easier.
That was it. His balls had dropped, and he had become a man, well, he was on the way to becoming a man anyhow. I noticed this in him, and something about it had suddenly turned me on. I was attracted to the boy he who sat behind me since the 3rd grade. I thought about him all the time, especially in the shower, the place where my mother says you are supposed to wash away your sins.
She knew that day she would have to report to him. After months and months of watching, and growing fine specimens, each one had died. She could not find a way to keep them going. Maybe the oxygen was killing them off slowly, she had no real idea why it was they kept dying.
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