Rendezvous
20 January 06 : 04.28 PM
Do you wanna know a secret? And can you promise not to tell?
I'm in love with a boy named Mason.
Mason, with his deep black eyes that shine like Onyx, dragging each cigarette like his last breath and a throaty voice like melted honey gravel.
I fell in love the moment I read his words and his emotions on paper and I knew his soul was bare there and he has let me touch it with my soiled hands. He's perfect because he isn't. A scar on his ankle and unreflecting eyes and too much nicotine. Making wrong turns and driving without words.
Mason listens out for guitar riffs and never lyrics, and I point out, listen to how beautiful these words are, they are a language speaking to you. He plays me something poignant and brooding, without words, he is telling me I am wrong.
I will always be lyric-girl and he will never be able to look someone in the eye without wanting to look away.
He says we're all deadweights and that each star in the sky represented something wrong with the human race.
I'm hopeful with him. I lose my cynicism and I'm so much more a believer than ever. I say, a star dies every second, flickering flickering gone.
Does that mean that life is one big Wilfred Owen poem?
And he will say, no, not that impactful.