it’s such a damn cliché, but charles swears everything’s happening in slow motion. the stream of people filing in and out of the starbucks across the parking lot, the music that spills from car speakers and fills the confined space of the car ( though not nearly enough to eradicate the unspoken truths that seep into clothed seats. ) charles promises he could count every single breath exhaled by every person that walks by, unlocking their car doors without any second glance at the honda he feels trapped in. he blinks twice, scratching incisors together for half a second before his lips part to finally set the confession free. “ i love you. ” as if it isn’t something he’s murmured into her hair before, as if his fingertips hadn’t already traced the words into her back night after night with shower water spilling over shoulders. there’s a wobble in the last syllable as if it isn’t something she already knows, as if he hasn’t spent the better part of two years working desperately to display as much.
it feels so careless to throw everything away now, leave it all behind like some two day old bag of burger king nearly toppled over in the trunk of his car. “ don’t give up now. ” and god, would an earlier version of himself be embarrassed that he’d been reduced to begging. the ‘ please ’ doesn’t fill the air, but charles is certain it overlays green irises and trembles his following inhale. @scrdonic