( 💃 – dancing with them )there is a boy and he takes you to a bar around the corner.he is not quite a man, not quite a boy,
a car from a brand unknown to you, bolting around the lotwith your name in his mouth.a bullet for a lump in his nervous, shaky throat,a war reddening the sky.so, you drive off with him, feign the whole night;your hands two heatwaves against each other,pin your hands into his clumsy words, recklessly,slip into another drink,dab on your best perfume when he isn't looking.tell me about yourself.and you do, slowly, because father said so,and with unease, your tongue splendid and green.winding at the thought of unraveling.you have to crack your jaw to fit the expanse of your hunger;a walf craving the name of unknown boys ( and girls ) to forget,to swallow into future lives.the boy working at the 7/11 who sometimes gives her a free can of coke, ahin,the girl at the back of her modern philosophy 101 class, ahin,her first crush in kindergarten, ahin, ahin, ahin.that one is gonna fucking kill you.present boy sits backs, blinks twice and pushes back on the table,asks if you want another.so you shut up and have a beer.the whole world is telling you anyway.the beer turns stale and everyone around yousounds like an echo.the beginning of whichyou were never a part of.are they happy?tell me.do you feel that life is just something that happens to us?unexpected. you plead with your eyes,small capsules like stars bursting on the reddening sight of your cheeks;your hunger is so loud, they're all unsettled now.and you beg to be ordinary. wishing you could pretend as well, a master of grand theater; a girl with a record under her arm and a bottle of coke where her thirst should be.a bird in a country with no word for flight.everyone just keeps nodding, according to the script, written by mr. hwang.so you have another beer.you know this already.later that night, the boy who is not quite a man, not quite a boy kisses you awkwardly.he dissolves his own worries into the husk of you.gently, but clumsily, searching for a space on your body to call his own.you feel limbless and maybe he notices.then, instead, he reaches for you and touches only your hand.he guides you across the wooden floor, embracing.you were born into violence, headfirst into the end of somebody else's story.your body is the first and last weapon you will ever yield.but maybe tonight you are meant to slowly sway across the room,a song playing you have never heard before,your forehead against the chest of the boy who is not quite a man, not quite a boy.but maybe that is alright.and maybe you are not a lonely girl tonight.
theartofmadeline
ellievsbear
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
jacobvanloon
areudirty
