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Literature Text
i.
we met on a sunday.
and i'd love to say it was some total out of this world, love at first site, butterflies in my stomach moment, but it wasn't. it wasn't because maybe that sounds just a little too cliché, and well, we were never the type for happy endings. maybe it was that, and the fact that i had no clue what i was doing that day, never mind going.
so here i was, gripping onto my leather shoulder bag for dear life and dragging my frail body through ten feet of snow. i never knew where i was going to be honest, i just knew i had to get away.
i had to get away from this town, these people, here. i just had to get away.
ii.
he was a hipster. and when i say hipster, i don't mean a try too hard thrift store hipster. i mean he was just so naturally hip. you'd stare at his shoes more than his eyes. they were old, the ratty old your mother would yell at you for because you wouldn't throw them out and the worn out old that just made you feel so completely comfortable. i'd always tell him that his shoes were a work of art. they had poems and quotes and streets and book titles and just every little thing that popped into his brain sprawled across them in sloppy handwriting. i always told him that he'd lose them all one day, lose every beautiful thing he'd sprawled across them just by stepping in a sidewalk puddle. he laughed at me when i said that, told me it was just poet vomit and a vintage disaster and rain water was suppose to wash memories away anyway.
to say he was the most beautiful thing i'd ever seen would be the understatement of the century.
iii.
he liked to travel. if i was going to forget everything else about him, i'd never forget that. he'd tell me stories, but only when it rained. he'd say that raindrops were the best sound for story telling, soothing to the body and comfort to the mind. i never understood how he could do that, see beauty in every little thing around him while i never gave anything a second thought. i'd stay up all night trying to figure him out, decode all his words, wiggle my way into the core of his being and just stay there, stay with him forever. i always wondered what he thought about at night. i always imagined it'd be something deep, thoughtful, maybe just a little to overanalyzed. like maybe why the stars have to fall or the moon has to fade. i never started thinking like that until i met him.
he kept a map in his van, a big, ripped, wrinkled old map of the world with colored countries and notes that i could never decipher. he marked off all the places he'd been and all the places he needed to go. he told me he'd take me with him one day, he didn't have a home so it'd just be us and his van, backpacks strapped onto our backs and change buried in our pockets. i told him it was a crazy, unrealistic way to live.
he said it was the only way to live.
iv.
we fell in love on a mountaintop. he took me star watching, told me to keep a look out for the falling ones and that since he couldn't take me to the top of everest just yet, this would have to do. i didn't have the guts to tell him that his eyes were more beautiful than everest would ever be. i really don't know how or why it happened, but it did. i was thinking about our first kiss, the way he cupped my face like i was the most precious thing in the world and the way his rough skin rubbed against mine. he always had this rugged look to him, a hint of stubble along his jaw and shaggy hair that never stayed in place. he reminded me of a coastline, all rough around the edges. but once you looked into those eyes, those ocean deep eyes of his you were smothered, suffocated in this blanket of comfort and fire that'd never let you go. he ran his fingers along my cheek, whispered for me to come back to him, out of my dream world because i was missing all the falling stars. i told him he was a liar, the only fallen star around here was him. and then it happened, we just stared at each other, lips shut tight and eyes locked on the other. he took me by the waist and pulled me under, rough hands painting me like a canvas. i breathed him in, took in his atmosphere and the loneliness in his voice as he whispered breathy 'i love you's' into my ear.
the day you make love on a mountaintop, the view really doesn't matter anymore.
v.
we had our fights. we had days spent running around the city in tears. we had no one to look after us but each other, stupid runaway teenagers with no home to go back to. we didn't fight much, but when we did it was a hurricane. we'd leave each other for days at a time, wander around endlessly and swear we'd never go back. but we did, we always came back. they say two lost people always find each other, i think the only time we were ever lost was when we weren't together. i could never sleep without him, never get use to the cold empty space beside me instead of his warm, sweaty bare chest. those nights we were apart, i'd think of the mountaintop and wish on every star i saw that he was missing me too. no matter how much we hated each other, we could never really hate each other. i got so angry once i ripped his map off the wall, shredded it into million pieces with my bare hands and threw it at him. that was the only time i'd ever seen him cry. i don't think i even came close to comparing to how much he loved that thing. i snuck back the next night, stayed up until six in the morning gluing every piece back together until it was as close to perfect as i could get it. when he woke up he told me i had glued europe in the wrong place, and that you could still see all the shredded pieces. i started sobbing then, mumbling about how much of a idiot i was until he pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead.
he promised me it was okay, it had more memories now and he liked europe there better anyway.
vi.
i made the mistake of asking him why europe was painted purple on his map once. he told me that the sun set in violet there, faded into the night with the most beautiful purple you'd ever witness with your own eyes, but only if you'd let it. he told me he'd go there one day, sit on top of the highest mountain he could find and let the horizon shine with everything it had. i told him i'd be afraid it'd swallow him whole. i guess i was right.
he never came back.
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thoughts of you
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i will always think of you as a piece of art-strokes of colour and longing and mess all balled up into one tiny portrait. you are a thought in my heart that is always warm with remembrance and peace. sometimes i wonder if you think of me at night, if in your heart you remember me as a so
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Words are for men
and women's minds will twist them.
They may speak, permission granted,
but the pen in all its might
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She knew better. All around
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Her brothers learned, and she listened.
One or two took pity, taught a, b, c
and she remembered.
And she read in cramped dusty rooms
where father never went.
Writing was next, with some practice.
Page after page of letters until her marks
looked like theirs. Until she truly wrote.
From then on it was all hers,
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words and worlds.
Love and denial and despair mixed in
carefully cramped
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she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was b e a u t y. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then
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i've always wanted this kind of love.
i figured i'd write a short story for once, haven't
written any of those in a while. i don't know if i like
it or not yet. what do you guys think of the ending?
[link] my writing music for this piece.
i'd like to know:
*even though the characters names
were never mentioned, did you get a good
feel of their personalitys?
*is the ending to sudden or confusing?
*do you understand what it means by him
never coming back?
*what is the best visual line?
*please, whatever you do, don't take my work
and pass it off as your own. please, please, please. <3
© 2011 - 2024 tearsfadewithyou
Comments15
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People who travel that much become part of the world. That is captured so perfectly in this. 
It has all the gorgeous freedom and and melancholy wrapped up in it. The end... it was unexpected, but not confusing. Somehow I think I knew subconsciously it would happen, because he seems like the type of person who couldn't stay.
And this:
i told him it was a crazy, unrealistic way to live.
he said it was the only way to live.
is the truest thing I've read for a long time.
I think the most visual part was "he reminded me of a coastline".
Beautiful, seriously. Just beautiful. Thank you for sharing it.
It has all the gorgeous freedom and and melancholy wrapped up in it. The end... it was unexpected, but not confusing. Somehow I think I knew subconsciously it would happen, because he seems like the type of person who couldn't stay.And this:
i told him it was a crazy, unrealistic way to live.
he said it was the only way to live.
is the truest thing I've read for a long time.
I think the most visual part was "he reminded me of a coastline".
Beautiful, seriously. Just beautiful. Thank you for sharing it.