reillyt4
it's interesting how these things manifest themselves, right out of the blue. there's no pretense or warning but suddenly there it is. how one minute she doesn't even matter and the next she's the face painted to the back of your eyelids and the name you test out a million different ways to taste just how right it feels. you've never been the type of person to fall to the point of obsession, to dream about conversations and looks and touches.
It's funny how most people's lives are filled with so many material things, things that they would consider necessary but are really just a farce to make themselves happier. Alex used to think that way, too. She used to think she couldn't live with her dry-cleaned, impeccably pressed two-hundred dollar suits or her five-hundred thread count sheets. It's only when she lost everything did she begin to realize what was really a necessity.
She watches him as he works. His shoulders flex and his eyebrows furrow. She never thought she'd be here, like this. Sitting on a fucking porch swing watching a man she might just love rake the fallen crimson leaves into a pile. Amanda sips her ice tea and wonders how she got here. She never wanted it but it happened anyway.
The boy from next door, Jimmy or Jonathan or something like that, is looking at the leaves that Evan is raking, a glint in his eyes. Looking around to make sure his parents aren't watching him, he runs towards the pile of leaves full speed, jumping in and scattering Evan's hard work across the lawn.
Amanda, without even thinking about it, laughs.
it seems like it's never ending
the twists and turns and fucking dead ends. they're everywhere and she's pretty positive they'll never stop.
so she runs and runs and her feet feel like they're splitting but she won't stop either. her breath is ragged and she swears she can practically feel her heart is dying. she doesn't know how other people do it because she can feel herself losing speed. she stops and it's not in a blissful moment of pure emotion or no emotion or whatever that white light is supposed to give you. it's actually pretty painful, the way her breath claws out of her lungs for the last few times.
it seems like there is an ending after all.
He's never been interesting.
What with his pale skin and dark hair and eyes that look like they've never seen anything worth the pain. He travels through life with no purpose, full of routine.
He brushes his teeth three times a day, digging bristles into white teeth and pink gums.
He dresses in a grey suit; grey because its nice but not as formal as black. White shirt. Black tie. Briefcase, straight back, dead eyes.
Her fingers pounded against the keyboard, her huge, gaudy ring clacking against the keys every time she used her right hand.
She was typing blindly, copying the words on the page next to her perfectly, but her mind somewhere completely different. After working so long in this field, she hardly ever payed attention to what she was working with.
It's not something he thinks about. His fingers curling into a fist, clutching so tightly he'll leave nail marks on his palm when he's done. He swings, leaving purple and blue and a little bit of red all over.
Her back is pressed up against the door, the knob gutting into her side, and she tried to sink down a little, just enough to get away.