Nothing.

Something.

Things.

Lots of things.

Very many things.

Too many things.

Nothing.

Something.

Nothing.

One thing.

No things.

Want things.

Everything.

One thing.

Small thing

Sharp thing

Please, put that thing away

Lets talk

I'll give you whatever you want, just pl-

Nothing.....

Nothing....

Nothi...

Not...

No..

Things.

Lots of things.

Messy things.

Clean things.

Rich things.

I did it.

I did it.

I-

Who are you?

What are you doing with that?

Where did you get that?

No.

Stop.

Let me go.

No.

I'm sorry...

No.

No.

Nothing.

Nothing. 

I am nothing.

To stand there in the dark shivering next the one I love gave me butterflies. Not real one's of course. I do not make a habit of consuming insects, but in that very, very cold October moment, my stomach would not settle. I could offer it a trillion dollars and it would still out right refuse rest it's case. My tummy and I were foes in that very, very, very freezing cold moment. I left it be. I ignore the gargled screams telling me not to go near him. I opened my arms and offered a hug. He swooped me up and in the cold was suddenly warm, about body temperature I'm assuming, and I was now a koala to this man. I prayed to some being of inhuman power to make sure that he would not drop me. I prayed out loud, and in hearing this he set me down with a chuckle. I swore. I do that in desperate times, such as this dangerously cold moment. Should I have refrained from jumping in puddles earlier? Maybe so. However, hindsight has never been a tool for changing already set events.

I'm small. The very tip of my tippy toes are barely enough to keep us eye level. Good God/Goddess of some religion I am not a part of, his eyes are pretty. Why must they be so pretty in this moment in which I am weak? I didn't even know gold was a possible color that could be included in an eyeball, and yet there it is. It's circling around his growing pupils, mocking me. Are they even growing, or am I just being egotistical? Hands, on waist? Well that's new for our friendship. I can smell the Mountain Dew he was drinking earlier from a Bon Jovi flask. Now I want soda. The things this guy does to me. It is ridiculous. Oh, and what is this now? He keeps flicking his head towards me. Probably wants to head butt me. Well fine. Do your worst. I dare y-

My goodness, his lips are soft like chewed bubble gum. Not the real kind. The fake kind that you get in a big roll. The one that has flavor for less that two seconds.Yeah... That one. Wow. Tastes like Doritos. Why does his breath smell like soda but taste like Doritos? I must be dreaming. Real life seconds don't normally last this long. How many have gone by now? Two? Interesting. My legs feel- wait where did they go? Good, sweet, offspring of someone probably kind of mighty, I'm paralyzed. I do so hope this gorgeous male I am currently sucking face with still has the intention of holding me up. Otherwise I shall not stand- Oh. No, he's not focusing on keeping me balanced. Well, two and a half seconds were fun while they lasted. 

Please don't bite him on the way down

Please don't bite him on the way down.

Please don't bite him on the way down!

Nope. He's retreating and grabbing his lips with an expression of pain. I bit him. I fell, and on the way down I bit him. What'd he just say? See ya? Does that event count as a proper parting good bye? What did I even say back? What even just happened...

...

...

Oh my God.

Okay, now i'm just going to run to the best of my abilities without paying much mind to the fact that I can't actually move the ligaments required to do so. Faith works, I think. Yup, it appears so. 

And so I end this tale with my ungodly shrieks that may or may not be relative to the song of demons chanting spite. The moral? October is not a healthy period spark new love. 

The end?

One fatal leap caused a bloody ankle.

One immature child covered a gaping wound with damp toilet paper.

One immature child a week and a half later picked at the scab. 

One pale, white, painful memory protruded slightly more then the rest of the skin.

One immature teenager tells her friends about a knife fight with an FBI agent named Paul.

One guy named Paul calls her out.

One truth told sadly.

One thousand laughs erupt from a village of vicious peers.

One annoyed young lady scribbles on a scar to make it look like a piece of toast.

One remarkable ending that hardly makes sense.

Like a nice, new hat on the first day it's yours will never again be as nice from then on and you learn to accept that fact. However, deep in your heart you will want it to be what it once was forever. You'll wish you had kept better care of it, but you remind yourself that you would never be as cruel as to rob it of its purpose by keeping it locked away to remain pristine. Whoever they were, they were themselves to the end. That, you know, is what truly matters. That fact is what helps you accept and move on. You won't forget the beauty, but you will move on.