Angel (prose poetry - Neville Longbottom)

2: The ghost of me

Like a ghost I follow him aroud. His eyes glimmer with the sky. And I kiss his cheek and embrace him when I can, away from school.

There's always a pink glow on his cheeks, and they're cold under lips. His breath intoxicatingly sweet, his shoulders firm and perfect to lean on. His waist thick and firm. He bites his lip and the inside of his cheeks when he's nervous. He opens his mouth and wets his lip without noticing. His handwriting the perfect blend between messy and neat, like a teacher's, curved, unreadable at times, stiff when anxious. He breaks quills by accident, three per term, splotches of ink all over his parchments. There's always a bit of dirt and water on them, because he often studies outside. He tries not to be too much of a bother, not staring too much in class.

I'm facing him in bed when he stares into the void, head on pillow, feeling like his body is too thick under the blanket, and that he looks stupid in pyjamas. It's all warm in there, rubbing his feet for comfort.

In the hallways, his head always bobs down, he would feel too tall and big if he ever stood straight, and might catch other people's gaze. He often stumbles into people, but if he doesn't see them getting mad- are they? Often he walks the hallways alone, even when with others, they're not really talking to him. Surprising how there's not a single friend around even with the hundreds of jittery heads that block the way.

He does great in class, but not the best (clumsy mistakes). Teachers praise him for his quiet studiousness, but because he's not cocky, it comes across more like a teacher's pet kind of thing, and not a smart person thing. When he's around arrogant extroverts, he feels like an invisible lowlife. Yet he'd rarely interrupt or bother, being kind to everyone, but not in a direct way that made everyone like him. More in a "I'll let you copy my homework" but you won't thank me, I'll have your back when you get sick or injured, and being a bully doesn't disqualify you.

And we went to bathe at a lake and I showed you I found your tummy soft, then the water filled us up until I was freezing in underwear on my towel, you were staring at me. You forced me to wear my towel and we pushed each other around like idiots until my leg got sticky with sand. I giggled and almost swallowed a wiff of sand.

Then we burried our feet under little piles the sun came back and warmed us up, but I liked it better when it was just your wet shoulder. It was a grey afternoon.

I felt so calm on your shoulder, the ionised smell of the towel under my nose, and wet hair streaks blowing in my brow. There was more said between us when we didn't speak at times, probably because we saw things the same way. Or so i wondered- were we preoccupied by the same existential thoughts? It bothered me to not be in your mind- I could only see your eyes zoning out into grey.

Before I had you, I thought everything would be perfect with you, but that's not how it works. I still had most of the day on my own, forced to become an independent individual. I'm not sure I was filling my time right. I don't know what I was after- there was always a lingering void in the air. I reckon none of us know what we're after cause we can't get it. A thousand things to get busy with and none to fill us up. I thought you and nature were by far the most interesting things about my life...