perfunktion
Generate isn't a word I like very much. It's too metal, too machine, too organized. Why generate when you can create, when you can invent, when you can discover?
I was only meant to be his pawn. Usable, disposable, a tool to get to the dream.
But not anymore. I was breaking free, and taking more than freedom with me.
Check-mate.
One of my greatest fears is being common. Sometimes it seems I go out of my way to be unique: my favorites are different from everyone elses', even if I might enjoy the normal more. I guess maybe it's because I'm afraid of being forgotten or blending in. Because I'm not loud or outgoing, I try to make up for that in other areas. It's something that I take pride in, I guess: being different. I want to be unforgettable. But in that, sometimes I forget myself.
Sometimes, it feels like pain is the new trend. It's fashionable. It's normal. It's expected.
You can dress it up with the right accessory, wear it as if it's something to be proud of. The newest statement.
And then sometimes, it's more than that.
You put it on like a favorite shirt, the one that goes with everything. You stuff your coat over it, tug on the zipper, roll down the sleeves. The tag itches the back of your neck, right where everyone will see if you scratch at it, and the collar feels tight around your neck, like it keeps shrinking in the wash.
But washing does nothing. It takes more than that to get the stains out.
...Maybe it's time to go shopping.
My insides feel like the beach when he holds my hand-- my stomach flips like sloshy, foamy waves, and it's like I've swallowed a mouthful of sunshine. And then when he turns to smile at me, grains of sand scratch against my sides-- a kind of pinch me, I'm dreaming.
Leaping is different from jumping.
Leaping needs a running start, arms swinging, both sets of toes pressing against the ground at the last possible second.
There's a certain thrill to leaping, a certain trust as you scrunch up your muscles and then let them breathe out as you fly forward.
Maybe that's why they call it a leap of faith.
"Lainey," he said. My name trailed off into a dot-dot-dot, a string left hanging in the air, no finishing it up and tying it up into a bow. And that was it.
For a while.
He turned to face me, but it was impossible to make eye contact for the shadow that his cap cast over his face. I reached out and pushed the brim of it up, causing his bangs to spike up over his forehead and leave his eyes wide open. Their blue made me dizzy and unsure, and, just like always, I had to watch the corners to keep from losing sight of my thoughts. I waited for them curve as he realized what I was doing, or to crinkle as I tried to find some other excuse as to why I was avoiding his gaze. But when I saw them do the exact opposite and dip down, I glanced back to the middle just in time to see the blue slashed in half before he stepped back and tugged the cap back down, throwing him back into shadow again.
"Lainey," he repeated, but this time there was only a breath before the words continued, "we need to talk."
Strike One.
"I don't really know how to put this, because, well, it-- we-- were never really, you know...we..."
Strike Two.
"...but I just think it's best if it just stays You and Me. Does that make sense?"
Strike Three.
We're Out.