daisy [l.h]

sept

Luke honestly didn’t know how did they even end up in a local art museum at like 10 in the morning. His eyes are locked perfectly on her as she stands there, looking at some paintings. A masterpiece looking at a masterpiece. Cliché sentence, but it is actually happening right now. He always thought of people as a masterpiece that God made. Different faces, personalities, mind, just different everything.

But every masterpiece that is walking down on this earth, you will find that special masterpiece walked past you. And they would make you feel dizzy, they would make you feel your blood rushing, they’d take up almost all the spaces in your mind, they’ll drug you up with their beauties, but hell, does it matter. You’ll still find yourself admiring them.

The pounding in his head this morning seemed to move to his heart. And that’s when he recalls what actually happened this morning.

Just like the cliché movie thing, Luke got woken up by the sun hitting his face–which is not good at all, and he also has a hangover. A really bad one. He never really drink. And he thought it wouldn’t be this bad, what was the reason he even drink last night?

He sat up and look around. And 10 seconds later realizing that it’s not his room, also, he is only in his ninja turtle boxer (his favorite), which doesn’t make the situations any good. What is happening? His head is pounding, God, it hurts. It seems like his head could’ve burst anytime.

And just like that, Daisy appeared infront of him (like, what the hell? Was that some kind of black magic?) with a painkiller and a glass of water. And let’s just say they ended up on the kitchen and he remembers her saying, “we didn’t have sex, Luke”. And it made his cheek heats up. Ofcourse Luke is being Luke and asked her what actually happened.

He also remember her laughing when she tells her about his brother coming home and he bluntly answered, “am I gonna be dead if he saw me?”. He could vividly see her face that is covered with a grin, “much likely.” was all that rolled off her tongue. And it made his heart skips a beat, just by remembering it. It was like his mind was a gallery and he has dozens photos of her smiling in 148 different ways in his head.. and it’s just–it’s a funny feeling.

Everything about her makes him dizzy. She got him walking sideways, spinning all round. She flipped his world upside down, and he doesn’t care.

There are stories in her eyes. Maybe that’s why sometimes he got lost in it, maybe he wanted to dig in, to find out those stories. Sometimes he fell asleep  with the thought that she was perhaps the moon–always disappearing with the dawn. And he would wake up, with nothing but the feel of her skin glooming on him. He would wake up, missing her presence.

Why is missing someone could be so addicting? You have to get rid of it, but you just don’t want to. You want to remember their details; their smile, the color of their eyes and their tastes forever but nothing lasts forever and either you want it or not, the picture of them will softly leave and remain in your heart as long as you live.

He thought about her hands, and how he craved for it to hold his. His bones are crumbling, his hands are fumbling.

The thought of her skin colliding with his made him want to vomit (in a good way). And just as he was thinking about it, he felt her hand sneaking in his. Lacing their fingers together. He could see her, biting her lip as her cheeks turn into a shade of pink. And he couldn’t help but smile.

“This is so amazing.” She breathed. It’s just a simple galaxy painting, a milky-way (she thinks?) on it. He looked at her, her eyes filled with so much awe. He is looking at her with admiration, but she is looking at another masterpiece with admiration. He wonders, would she ever look at him like that?

“Can you write a poem out of it?” He was challenging her, she knew it. So, she smiled and takes her time. 30 seconds. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but he knew whatever it is – the words she spoke, it will make his skin trembles, his heart flutters, and his breath hitched in his throat. 1 minute. I wish I could read her mind, hearing her mind arranging those words to sit neatly in a sentence. Hearing her reading it all over again to make sure it fits perfectly. 2 minutes. She was looking at the painting but her mind is revolving around him. As she organize the line one by one, she was still thinking of him, his smile, his scent, his lips, his eyes, but mostly, his hand in hers. 3 minutes. “This moment,”

His head turned to see her side view. “Sunrise at dawn. Wading into each others lives. Togetherness and warm. Picknics a midst the day. If the world would just collapse. This is where I’d stay. Sunset giving into the stars. Looking into you, along with Jupiter and Mars. I know one thing for sure.

“Where we are or what we do, it’s all irrelevant. All I ever needed was you.” First thing to come in his mind is: ‘Oh God, that was breathtak–wait, was that directed to me? But she doesn’t give him the chance to ponder about it any further and start jogging away – with their hands still locking – taking him by surprise.

He didn’t feel the need to question her anything about it. He feels like he knew.

He walked along with her. He walked these roads with her. She was like the map of veins drawn on the back of his hands; he thought that maybe if he kept on walking–with his heart beating very fast–it could guide him home again.

And he is home.

-

i hope this made sense

pls comment whatcha think below and motivate me bc ive been procrastinating like i havent updated this story for 2 weeks lmao YEAH MAN I JUST HOPE YOUR DAY IS JUST AS AMAZING AS U ARE