@justaperson

Well I heard this song,

no wait I heard a lot songs,

and well

they reminded me of you.

I heard this love ballad,

and my heart sent my brain

to the thought of you,

and how you make me feel.

I heard a break-up song.

It really made me appreciate

the fact that I'll never make you

feel that crappy way.

I heard a dance song,

and I pictured an evening

after work

playing music while cooking dinner together,

and this song would come on,

I'd spin you around and pull you close,

than sway together as dinner burnt.

I hear a song and I think about you,

but that's a lie.

I think about about you more than that,

I think about you all the time.

I think someone else says it better,

“I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. Nothing that I wouldn’t do. Go to the ends of the earth for you to make you feel my love.” ~Bob Dylan

I Love You

Boredom is a virus, one that mutates every moment, for it does not want to be killed. Most come into boredom when the sun is shining the brightest and you’re stuck indoors. No one is immune to it because boredom is the only disease created by your very own mind and it knows your weak spots. Boredom can be seen in the dead eye stare of a person's whose phone has just given way to a crappy battery life. This disease can be spread through lack-luster and mono-tone speeches. Classrooms, doctors offices, cubicles at four o'clock are all feeding grounds for this wild virus. But look on the bright side of thi-, oh wait there isn't one.

Boredom is a mental superpower giving you the all-mighty ability to slow down time whenever there seems to be nothing to do. The ability to look at any clock and crush every bit of hope you had left in your body. It provides the strength to carve any funny word or picture your tired imagination can think of into a desk. Boredom is the ability to flunk any pop quiz because you spaced out right and forgot you were on Earth. Boredom is the ability to fill any page no matter how big with doodles of stick figures, cubes and those weird S things.

When you are bored you discover new things in your surroundings. Like how there are 67 ceiling tiles in the classroom. Or how there is three pieces of gum stuck to the bottom of my desk, one red piece and two blue pieces. Boredom is counting how many students there are in your class and then recounting four times because you keep forgetting that weird kid in the back. Boredom is figuring out that the teacher has ten pictures of his family throughout his desk and back wall, three of which are of his dogs. Boredom is realizing that those pictures are some of the only things that allow him to get through each day with a purpose, because even he gets bored of this job.

Boredom is realizing that you are not the only bored on in your class. Boredom is something that everyone gets and no one knows why we only have the attention span of an ant because the guys researching that crap got bored. Boredom is looking around in your class and seeing that everyone is looking off into space and knowing that none of them realize how funny they look with their mouths wide open. Boredom does not kill; boredom does not consume your entire life just the moments that are not interesting and unfortunatly no one can avoid getting bored. Boredom is funny and boredom is annoying but best of all boredom can force you to take a moment of your boredom to appreciate how beautiful the world is right outside your window.

His eyes like moons glowing in the dark room from the reflection of television. Dry, cracked, and callused hands trace and scan her small frame, as if making sure every part of her was there. The thin bladed breath lifting from her lips ascends and slices his face as he eyes fall into her gaze. The rooms air battled between hot and cold, as the strong jawed air-conditioning fought with the pure heat coming from their bodies. Clothes were lost to the floor hours ago, quickly ripped from each their bodies, leaving stitches frayed but their bodies warm against one another. Steam rose from their red tempered passion. Sweat sat at rest atop his lip, he would wipe it away but his hands were busy.

Her once fragile, porcelain skin, now decorated with scattered rose buds, and scratches from his untrimmed nails. A misshapen bite mark laid on her breast, a mark she could not forget the pain of. Her hourglass figure now rattles not from pleasure, but from shivering fear transcending her naked body. The girls sands of time running low.

Though she was never quite a delicate flower in her time, she still could feel her innocence drip out from her eyes to pillow. As he continuously punctures her youth, she lifts her head high and prays to the very God, she swore off years ago. She used to envy and strive to be like all the strong women throughout time; with novels of their strength. But now as her short chapter in history begins writing its own conclusion, she knows no strengths for people to remember.

The two bodies in these muffled thrusts were pure opposites, no rhythm, no connection, like magnets rejecting each others cores. As he bites her chapped, burning lips she knows this is the only pleasure on earth that this so called “man” can enjoy. The only silver lining she feels from this experience is stained in blood from the flow of crimson streaming down her once soft neck. Eyes dart back and forth from the dark empty room to a bright light, bringing her close to the end.

He bears down and feels the human craft of pleasure all over his aged body. He stands and looks at the broken figure on the bed. Her now tainted skin, becoming cold to the touch. The embrace of the frigid air greets her body; her soul trying to figure which way is up as it rises from her heart. As he puts on his wrinkled, stained, and now torn clothing he looks once again into her mostly lifeless gaze. He concentrates on the fear in her eyes and whispers, “thank-you honey, you have made your father very happy.”

When I first spoke I told her,

that I really liked her,

that I wanted nothing more than to ask her out,

that I was nothing like the other guys,

that I would never hurt her.

When I held her hand and whispered I love you for the first ever time,

I cried for the first time in front her,

I said it was the first time I had ever felt such a way,

I listened as she said it back,

and for the first time my heart felt a real emotion,

guilt.

Each night before bed, I would make her a promise,

that we would last forever,

that I could picture our future,

that I only ever thought of her.

Lies,

All of it lies,

Every single thing was a lie,

To her,

To her family,

To her friends,

And at the end of the day,

To myself.

Nothing but lies.

But I couldn't stop,

I couldn't admit it,

Even now I tell myself it's all okay,

But it's not.

On our last day together,

one hand was placed on her cheek,

as I promised that long distance would work,

all while the other hand hid behind my back,

with nothing but crossed fingers in my palm.

I never loved the first girl I loved,

But she'll never know the Truth.