isn't it funny how fast things change? ::: larry stylinson

Chapter 39

Louis dipped his head down, a frozen blade of grass twisting in between his fingertips. His fingers felt numb as his heart. He felt he owed everyone an explanation, he just could not put it into words other than the fact that he was terrified.

He had drawled on and on, every time any point of their relationship was brought up, about how it's center was purely sex. That had happened, the center had reached its largest diameter. What could have possibly happened after was a dead man's guess. So he took the guess away, pulled any thought out of any thinking mind, and ran with it.

He could still picture Harry that next morning, walking into his friend's house, all beautiful, and yet not nearly as put together as he usually is. He could still remember his hot pink star glasses. Those glasses were so stunning, though they could only be so on Harry.

He saw Harry wearing an identical pair of glasses the next day, with his big dimples and smile spread across his face, though, with the glasses, Louis could not really tell if the smile really existed through the jungle of his eyes. 

He had run away from one of the best and worst people he had ever got the chance to know, to honestly and truly know.

He was terrified, though maybe he may regret that he was. In any meaningful action, fear would always be the most towering barrier. And he just could not find a way to get over it. Fear is not something that a person can climb, because it is constantly changing It was a rock wall with rocks that turned to liquid the second the rock was needed for support, sending its climber straight to the ground. 

He sat in the back of the library, lazily breathing out towards the roof, his eyes counting the dirty specks in the tiles of the ceiling. His fingers tap slowly against the table, at a steady rhythm, his notebook in front of him. It has become quite messy, with a bunch of sticky notes and mini paper airplanes stuck into it. Small envelopes stick out from the pages, of which doodles cover.

He almost wished that time did not exist, that change did not live right on the very golden fingers of the ticking clock, with its constantly moving gears. The gears never screeched, never seemed to fault, in any other minute than when he looked at him. When he looked at him, the gears grew immediately with rust, it's gold faded into the time that passed with every tick. The change was the rust, creeping up the fingers like insects crawling over a sleepers skin. He was not a molecule of the stretch of time, he was one of the moving fingers. He carried a fraction of the change on his muscular back, the largest weight, greater than the weight of the sky. Atlas' holding of the sky could hardly compare to the immaculate weight of inevitable change. Change is needed to move forward, strapped tightly to his back, with the strongest of steel, a bar of gold sprouting from the strap, right through his boreal heart.

His eyes did not feel to be blue, they felt to be red, piercing, bright red, all around, through white and blue and black, red had covered all. His tears were much similar to time... they would never stop. They would never stop except for when he was with him.

He himself did not quite comprehend why he left, he simply just though that it was better to do so than to get left.

No one wants to be left stranded.

-~-~-

I can't stop looking at you.

Your eyes are never on me, they never even fall past the book that you're reading. A curl is falling into your face, right upon your forehead, fallen from its fellow strands that remain tucked behind your ear. You draw on your ears, tiny little fake piercings. Its adorable. I can tell that you're relaxed, by your gentle face. All I want to do is go and lay my head on your shoulder.