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Tuesday's musings Eh, just a place to write.


broken parasites
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Affection.
You know what? You're rather slow.

You should know by now that I'm never as nice to other people as I am to you. Complements, complements, complements... saying things I never would have it was someone else.

Because I deeply care about you. More then care, even. Lust, like...

Love.

I can't help but feel a whole lot better when I'm around you or talking to you.

I miss you. I know I should have said something today, but you never said anything last night, so how was I supposed to know what to do? ...Or even if you saw what I confessed...

I never confess. It's only happened one other time, and that was because I was moving away. But I'm not going anywhere this time, and neither are you. So, it's your call. I can't tell you how much I would love for you to like me even half as much as I like you. It would make my world spin upside down, but in a good way. A light headed, fluttery chest, tingles down your spine kind of way.





13 comments
Senses.
Imagine it, a Tuesday without dreadlocks, without all the black clothing, and without her glasses, for she was wearing contacts at the time.

Tuesday moved around a lot as a child, and before she moved to the east coast, she had lived in Hawaii for two years.

And now I would like you to think of a nicer Tuesday, one who didn’t keep to herself. One that was liked, not disliked, for the most part. A truly sociable girl.

We were both 13 when I had came to Hawaii, and he was my first friend. Simon, a boy I had always thought looked like an angel, with his light, almost white blonde hair and sparkling gray eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but even by living in Hawaii, he never had much of a tan. I knew the boy was gay, he had told me shortly after we became friends, but I didn’t care.

Right from the start, on our first walk down the beach, we had bonded. Just…talking, and being in each other’s company. Hearing. There was a moment that day where we stopped talking, sat down, and looked deeply into each other’s eyes, not saying a word. Just…exploring the other person through sight.

He always smelled of strawberries and coconut.

Later on, almost a year after, we finally learned about each other through another sense- touch. I remember being in his arms, dancing, twirling, embracing. A true friend was he, and I to him. I didn’t want to let him go, and nuzzled myself closer to him.

I realized that I loved him that night.

I longed to be with him in a deeper relationship then just as friends, best friends, true friends. /Only/ friends? Oh no. It wasn’t even much of a sexual feeling towards him; I cared about him deeply, and wanted those loving thoughts to come out. I wanted to taste his own thoughts.

But our days were coming to a close. My family announced we were moving to the east coast soon. I cried, long, and hard, into the arms of Simon. I couldn’t leave him.

On my last day, I resolved to finally get that taste. Just about to go into the plane, I stood up on my toes, and kissed him. He brought me closer, and whispered to me that he would miss me, so very much. I told him I loved him. He squeezed me, but said nothing else.

It took me ages to recover from my feelings towards him. I knew I had to give him up, and I would probably never speak to him again.

I never could fully stop loving him.




broken parasites
Community Member
dev1



broken parasites
Community Member
avatar
3 comments
So many petals dancing about.
Know what I realized?

I don’t have many friends. I know a lot about many people, but I haven’t actually spoken to them. My small circle of friends is all I have. I don’t really mind, but it would be nice for once to know people better than what their exterior hints, or what a small whispered comment said. I want to get to know them.

But they don’t want to get to know me. They would leave if I tried to talk to them. They would look at me oddly, as if I had done something amazingly offensive when in reality I had just said hello.

Oh well, that’s life for you. I can't catch all the petals of the flower that I tore apart. I can only cling to the few that I refused to let go.





9 comments
Tuesday...what a name.
Just another reason for me to be picked on. It's really stupid, to make fun of someone because of their name. I would rather have an interesting name with character than a boring run-of-the-mill name. Isn't it more about the person, and not the name?

But who would want to know me? That one girl who sits in the corner unscrewing her pens and taking out the springs, or messing around with her small kit of tools. She's odd, don't speak to her. She's different, stay away.

I'm sorry I can't be like all the rest.




broken parasites
Community Member
dev1


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