Wanderlust

Lost

Where are you?

Out of everyone who could have received this it's me and I've never been so confused. Your tight, ocean-blue dress looks so beautiful on you, topped off with your ethereal smile. The things I would do to be looking into your eyes right now. Not even a hypnotist could pull me out of the trance they cast upon me. Beauty doesn't have a name nor a shape. It does however have a personality, destined to bloom like a flower or the sun.

Everything has its pair: fire will always melt ice; the lungs help supply oxygen to the blood; bones are the structure to muscle. Without their pairs they would be alone, surrounded by an endless fog of solitude- which will eventually poison their airways. If you showed them a flash of light utter darkness would finally fill their soul. There will come a point in which you'll gasp on your last breath of oxygen and be doomed to let nature swallow your body. Over time the corpse will go through several processes; In the end nature will encase it in something beautiful. Maybe beauty will come in the form of a pretty, blue flower on the verge of blossoming. Or perhaps, in an entrancing sunset. One could go on to say that Mother Nature is a human's pair. One day we will all be beautiful. But you, you take my breath away. Nothing will ever compare to you. Yet there you are. Drunk. Without me.

I look deeper into the audience of this photo, examining every detail to see if there is anything I could recognise so I can figure out where the hell you are. If only you could see the trouble I go through just for you, just so you can see that you mean something to me. I mean who knows, you're probably off necking it with some drug dealer. Selling yourself just for a joint. Then again that's not much of a surprise knowing you.
There it is. A tacky sign glowing in the background of your photo. Fretless Drinks. That's where you are. I take one glance at my mum, and she already knows. All she does is look at me.
"You can go"

That's all it took for me to grab my board and my bag. The times 18:56. It's almost seven. I'm sure I can get there soon. I must. I open the door. Haunted by what my mum must think I'm going to do. I feel awful, the thought echoes throughout me. With one look I could consume my mother's heart and crush it within seconds. That one look that can make any mums day harder or even worse. Maybe she saw it. The ghastly sheet plastering my face. I give her a reassuring glance. She needs to realise it's time to let me go. Finally. As harsh as that seems. I crave freedom. A sense of independence that's been missing my whole. With my family it's a surprise I'm ever allowed out of their grip.
The floor is bare. Smooth and flat. It's essentially a skater's wet dream and I stand by that! It's always exhilarating, being able to race down a hill and not be kicked off my board by a rock or pebble in my way. After a short while I can see it, coming into my peripheral vision as I draw closer. I'm here. Without hesitation I pick up my board and make my move.

The social perspective of men is very one sided, unfortunately. Lots of people believe that we shouldn't be sad, that we're unable to show any sort of emotion. It's as if we're just books with no words or meaning. How are you supposed to read that? Just blank books, no subtext, no meaning, nothing. Instead, what people do is fill it in themselves. It's inaccurate though. Many people don't see real men. They just see the horny vermin in pubs or bars or back alleys who are always only interested in one thing: Sex. Perhaps they are riddled with disease, I could even go far enough to say they are the disease. Too many men abhor the thought of showing the slightest bit of raw, real emotion; If they break character, even just once, it's game over. That's what makes them weak. Not tears. Not pain or sorrow. The standard they force upon themselves to try and live up to: Lecherous and void. It makes them useless, like they're a pile of scrap metal waiting to be disposed of or taken away to be heated into one lump of metal. One day they might be made into some sort of construction item. One day they'll find purpose, or someone will find it in them. They will be whole and worthy again. None of that matters though because I know who you are, and I know that you see past an emotion. That's why I need to save you. Even if you don't recognise my attempt to save you. I'm coming.

My first impression is that the building looks intact. The outside is clean, windows are shiny, and laughter is prominent. A big flashing sign reads, "Fretless Drinks," attracting men and women like an eclipse of moths. The air is intoxicated with the strong smell of nicotine and booze. The bass of the music playing ricochets against the floor and creates a faint hum felt on the pathway. My feet are firmly planted into the ground contemplating its next movement, denying the advances of the gentle vibrations that linger.
This is it. I'm doing it.

I walk towards the door. It's heavy. I push my way into the bar and scan it, picking up on as much detail as I can. Automatically I see a lot of fresh meat. Whores. Sluts. Perverts. It's a display of short skirts and tank tops, bra straps and high heels. Bodies are pressed together like sardines in a tin. My eyes are busy, they scan like a radar. I need to remember my purpose of being here. Thats you, Lucy. I can't let myself get distracted.

"Hey there," She purrs into my ear, "My names Jade. I noticed you came in here alone, looking for company maybe?" I smirk at her. She plants her hand on my cheek, a clearly flirtatious advance. She wants me. God, it feels like I want her more. It's a losing battle. She is so hot, and it almost makes me forget why I'm even here: Lucy. I look deep into her eyes and I'm entranced. Shes here and you're not. Maybe you never will be maybe now's my chance. I feel my face creeping up to hers, her breath hot against my face. I'm about to seal this with a kiss. I'm ready to feel your lips against mine. My body aches for it.
"Jacob? What the fuck! "
My heart drops faster than my hand from Jades face im fucked