I finger the chain around your neck and watch the rise and fall of your chest falling out of time with the grandfather’s clock down the hall.

--

Realistically, love is never like it is in the movies. And I’ve come to realise that, slowly.

--

“He bought her a bracelet,” she says, and there is a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“He bought her a bracelet, and asked her out, right there, on the deck!”

“How sweet,” I comment, “Just like in a movie.” I smile, but really, I’m just thinking about all the ways they could break up.

“I know right?” She continues on, “And of course, she said yes, she doesn’t even like him that much, but how could you not say yes?”

I nod in agreement, and think that maybe he’ll be the one to break it off.

--

I finger the chain around your neck, and watch you mumble your way through the dreams that you manage snatch from the humid air around us.

--

Realistically, it will all end. Sooner than you expected.

--

“You’re beautiful,” he says to her, and I watch from afar.

“You’re beautiful, and I love you.”

He hands her a box, and watches her smile.

He doesn’t know what she was planning to do that day, and he doesn’t know that her smile may not have been purely out of happiness.

I see them lock hands, and she doesn’t carry out her plans.

--

I extract myself from your lazy grip and gather up my things. Realistically, love is never like it is in the movies, and realistically, it will all end. Realistically, you’ll hardly remember my name after the throbbing headache, the dizziness, and the bitter taste of god knows what on the back of your tongue, and realistically, you won’t be worth it.

You wake, hearing the click of the door close, and the pang of a hangover (and something else) strikes the back of your head. You disregard the strange and distant senses of loss, and ache and go back to sleep. You finger the chain around your neck and subconsciously think that it wasn’t there before.

The grandfather clock ticks its tock, and you don’t remember my name in the morning, after the throbbing headache, the dizziness, and the bitterness.

Realistically, I am pathetic at taking chances, and you are, at remembering things.

an:

Yeah. It is kind of four in the morning and my eyes are bleeding. I thought I'd try and get back into this 'writing' business and work something up with all the shit that's floating around my grey matter at the moment. This is kinda for you (you know who you are), but I think you'll scold me for my way at looking at things. Mebbe.

Also, I don't think I intended for this to hit someone's heartstrings, and have some real passionate, angsty air about it. I've kind of given up on trying to portray that.