Whenever I see a guy lean on his horn a millisecond after the light turns green, I can’t help thinking he lasts the same amount of time in bed.
I’m asleep, covers pulled up around my face to keep the cold out, dead to the world. I wake with a start, almost instantly alert, instantly knowing something is very wrong. It’s so dark in here I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, but I don’t need to see to know that something’s coming at me out of the dark. I squint through the darkness so I can see that it’s just the wind and laugh and have a mini heart attack and go back to sleep. But the thing keeps coming. I try to move out of the way, frantic now, but it’s as if my body is frozen in something warm. I can’t move. I must move. I can’t move. I struggle in an outright panic now and I feel the blankets moving around me and the veins are standing out in my neck and it’s hot - so hot in here, and I still can’t move an inch. It’s almost upon me now, I can feel it, and all I can do is scream. Except I can’t. It just explodes inside me with nowhere to go. I try to open my eyes to see what I’m facing, but they might as well be stapled shut. I strain and I struggle and I fight my own body parts in mad desperation to escape the thing I cannot see. Then, darkness. When I awake, the thing is gone, and the girl whose heart I broke a year ago is lying on me with my arms around her. She’s heavy. Too heavy. She’s dead. Two seconds later, she dissolves, and I’m left with my arms wrapped around a skeleton. I’m awake for real this time, considerably more than disturbed. It has to have been a dream, except I never remember my dreams. And I’m on the other side of my bed.
A writer’s pride is a full notebook and an empty pen.
When I was growing up, the normal people told me to stay away from the sick ones. They told me to stay away from the people in therapy, from the ones fighting addiction, from the ones who used to find solace at the bottom of a glass. Now I find myself surrounded by these people, and I’m surrounded by the best people in the world. Then I look at all the people I surrounded myself with when I was normal, and I realize just how sick I was.
They destroyed their planet before they even discovered it. They didn’t understand that some things just can’t be taken. They never even knew what it was they were stealing, but that didn’t stop them from killing their friends. This is why they can’t have nice things.
The way her eyes meet yours the instant before and don’t waver for a second. God, that look is more intimate than fucking and you wonder if her heart stopped beating like yours just did. Or maybe she can’t even look at you, her eyes downward before she steals a look at your lips - is she blushing? You can’t tell in the dark. And when you finally kiss her, does she pull away after a mere moment and smile shyly and hug you to hide her flush, or does she kiss you so fucking hard you both only stop for fear of asphyxiation, but you both don’t really care because it’d be a hell of a way to go? Can you feel her lips twist against yours when she involuntarily smiles? Maybe she enjoys the hunger in your eyes when all you want to do is fucking possess her, when you’re so close you might as well be inside her but you’re not even touching - and then she pulls away while your lips chase hers and she grins at your pain. She could be awkward and bumpy and messy and giggly and apologetic and you kiss her again because that’s the only way to shut her up and tell her it’s okay without saying a word. Does she hold your face or pull your hair? Do you open your eyes for an instant because you just need to see what she looks like when you kiss her only to find she’s doing exactly the same? Consider the girl whose hands rise and fall with a mind of their own, so she bites your lower lip hard in a futile attempt to control herself. Consider her astonishment when she discovers you bite back. Sometimes, you can tell so much about her by the way she kisses you.
I wonder how many emotions can pass through a man’s mind in a split second. I wonder, in the instant a man dies, if has the time to fear his future, regret his past, and disbelieve his present all at once.