Author: Alex J. Finn PM
What do you do when you can't talk to anyone about it? When you can't blog it, because someone you know will read it? Yet, you have to tell someone... something. So I wrote this. Rating for language or whatever. Oneshot, implied FF.Rated: Fiction T - English - Words: 522 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 04-24-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2352633
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Don't worry if you don't understand this at the end. I don't think it's understandable. It's hard for me to write something coherent when it's basically a complete transference of life onto paper with a few bits and pieces fic-ed in… so, you can stop reading now and save yourself the confusion, or you can read (since you've clicked it already) and see if you can make heads-or-tails of what I'm going on about.
Talking to her now, it's strange.
Maybe it all never happened.
Never will happen.
It's like… maybe you were sitting across the table from your best friend, and the tinkling of the little bell signals the café door opening. A new customer. So, out of habit, you glance over your friend's shoulder -- because you're facing the door -- and you look at the person who just walked in.
It distracts you from what you were doing before; now, when you turn back to her, you've forgotten what you were saying in the first place.
She's giving me the same look -- the careful watching of my eyes obscured by this blasted fringe I've neglected to cut, and a smile that looks like a suppressed grin because she knows what I feel for her. Her eyes are grinning, too, teasing me as her hands brush over mine in our fight for the zipper.
But how can she, when I don't even know what I feel?
I don't know her well enough. Six weeks feels like six months; the speed at which my life is whizzing past literally makes my head spin, and I'm left behind while everyone streaks ahead. But they feel it, too, they tell me as much. So why am I the only one in stasis?
Fucking relationships. A particularly close one, like the one I used to have with someone who is now quickly in danger of becoming a figment of my teenage years, can easily be misinterpreted as an intimate, more than platonic marriage of two minds. Yet, where will you draw the line? We are good at keeping the secrets we don't wish to share. People act all the time, their masks only slipping unless they want them to. An outsider will be plagued with self-doubt at their observation of your interactions with someone close to you.
Sometimes I'll pick up signs that objectively speak of something more than friendship; in context, I cannot say anything with certainty.
It's disjointed, messy, a jumble of emotions and thoughts. I can't focus on anything, and I can't explain anything even to myself. I want to laugh, because things -- other than this -- are funny, but I also feel like any amount of laughter I invest in will never be enough. Even though this well is empty, the want -- the need -- for laughter (hysterical or otherwise) is so great that if I tried hard enough, everything would bubble up and burst.
What would happen then? But more importantly:
What the fuck is this?