laurenletang

laurenletang

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Living vs. exsisting

soon

He stepped onto the ship. "See you soon." "See you." But I never did.

late

I know I am too late as I walk in the door, much too late to go unnoticed, so I abort the idea of sneaking in quietly. Nicholas waits for me on the love seat, staring ahead. "Where have you been?" "Out." "I told you to be back by nine." "It's saturday. The traffic was bad." Why am I still in this? Fear begins to form in a hard knot in the pit of my stomach. "Who were you with?" I take a deep breath and stare at the wall. I feel like I am explaining myself to an overprotective father. A father who drinks a little too freely. I can smell the alcohol on Nick's breath from three feet away. "I was with Noah." "Him again." "Yes." "You'd rather spend time with him than me." Yes. "No, of course not." I hear myself say words that have never been more untrue. Nick sighs a practiced, well worn sigh. Terror shoots through me. Please let me off easy. "Then, you'd better come over here and prove it to me." Fear turns to disgust, and I find I would take the beating over this. This is hell; this fake, ugly affection. I throw my jacket on the floor and saunter towards him. I pray he will not smell Noah on my skin.

roar

The ocean lets forth a mighty roar as I step into it. I find I am afraid.

fawn

The lights are flashing, and the music is vulgar and so, so loud. And all around you are people, smashed together, sweating together, crowding in a huge pit of delirum. And dancing, dancing in the worst sense of the word. Where is your date? And where is the couple you came with? You look around but you can't move. You're crammed between a large boy on your right, and a barely clad girl on your left. You're on your tiptoes, peeking over bobbinhg heads. Then you see them; the couple. You've noticed that he's been fawning over her all night, and she over him. And there they are, grinding; up, down, up, down. Her back to his front, their hips moving in circles, their eyes closed in ecstacy. You feel like you're going to throw up. Weren't you all making fun of the others doing this just minutes ago? Didn't you all agree on how degrading it was? Your head is pounding you want to go home. You just aren't someone who can partcipate in that sort of activity. You're the responsible one. The good little christian girl. And you like it that way; that way you're safe. Even so, you can't seem to pull your eyes away from them. And a small flash of desire runs through you. You almost wish it was you over there. That it was you being completely loose and free and innapropriate. You begin to wonder how wonderful it might be to let go for once. You wonder if you'll ever get to find out.

I am trying to stay soft. And have togetherness. But friendships are tapestries and threads unravel. At least they are for me. And my thoughts are becoming more crude. And my outlook is so wide at the edges that it is too overwhelming to take it all in. Would it be easier to bring in the edges to one small, steel, manageable square?

Maybe it's time to trust again.

It occurs to me all at once that what I am about to say will be binding. Each new passing second is a gasping breath. Two words. Just say them, just say them. No way out. Trapped. Lace clouds my vision, chokes my wrists. His eyes; shining, beautiful, amazed. Like he is about to receive a gift. I'm trembling. How can I say the truest words I have ever said, ever felt, when I'm treading on lies? Lies like shards of broken glass. He'll never find all the pieces.

Afterwards, the silence is deafening. The stillness hurts me. He kisses my forehead and rolls over to the other side of the bed. I am cold. I can feel the imprint of his lips still lingering on my skin. Snow is falling outside the window. His breath turns steady as he drifts off to sleep. I watch the snow until my eyelids feel heavy. Even then, I lay awake.

Mme. Cordilia sits stifly in her chair. Her fingers drum out a steady pattern on the desk in front of her, and her eyes are trained on the elaborate tapestry that hangs opposite her. Upon entering the room, one notices that her eyes are cold today. They always are, but today especially so. As Marco enters the room, her eyes pierce him, her stare somehow angry, devastated, and bored all at once. Marco's face remains blank. "You called for me." He states. It is not evident that he is fighting to keep his voice even. "Indeed." Marco raises his brows. Mme Cordilia sighs. "It seems I have come across another need for you, my darling." Anger wells up in Marco's chest. "No, do not call me one of your darlings. Do not try to weave another facade right in front of me. When I last saw you I was made a guarantee that you had no need of me, nor would you, for quite some time. This time was necessary for me to gather my thoughts, without your influence, and you were well aware-" "Marc." Mme. Cordilia's face seems to be fading, very slowly being replaced with a face that seems younger, and somehow softer. "I am well aware. But this time, I promise you, it will not be like the last. People do change; you know that as well as I do." Marco takes a breath. "People do change, and with that, their hearts change as well." And with that, Marco turns slowly and leaves the room. A sesnse of finality hangs in the air. Mme. Cordilia returns to studying the tapestry.

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writing since 2011 · 101 entries · 101 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Dulcie showed up.

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on this day 15 years ago

Dulcie wrote about downpour
“she looked out over the fields surrounding the farm, the rain slashing at the window; pounding the ground. suddenly, he slipped in through the door, his hair rumpled, his face wet. "it's a downpour o…”

the words Dulcie reaches for

eyesfacewindowskynowstophairhandbreathlipslovebehindheartfeetnightair