august 19, 1983
i wondered what it felt like to be seen- and i don't mean that literally, just how to be, felt, to be understood, like, fucking, i don't know. express my feelings through music, or poems, or just a good fucking speech. thoughts like these were prone when the store was empty.
i often felt like it wasn't just the store that was empty, but my head too. just an empty black hole, with these just fucking weird scenarios that i could seem to make up. working a full time job, living on 2 hours of sleep..fuck, where is everyone today?
the bell on the door chimed in an orderly rhythm. i hummed at the new presence, though the rest of the store stood in eerily silence. just me, myself and i. and scotty asleep on the couch; oh, and this customer. out of the corner of my eye i could see a figure dressed in all black, not giving a second thought to any of the records. weird. i lean further into my book.
i yawn. this book holds no presence of something special to me. it's not a personal pick, or significant in anyway, but it was laying around.
"hi." a soft voice murmurs, resting his hands on the counter top. i immediately perk up, fixing my posture and grinning widely.
"hi." kirk. he's looking pretty as ever, his pretty (almost) black ribbons , his pretty doe eyes, his pretty crooked teeth, his-
i curse myself out in my head- it's not so empty anymore.
he returns a smile, and gestures his hands to my, now forgotten, book. "any good?"
his fingers look worn. small cuts and unforgotten bruises trail along their nimble figures, dents on the palms of his finger tips signify he had been practicing his guitar skills prior.
lying about this book would have no purpose, or any significance in any way. even though i knew this, i felt like i had to prove something.. maybe say how much i've been enjoying it?
"good at putting me to sleep," he laughs. maybe it's right that i didn't lie. "what are you, what are you doing here?"
at my question his cheeks turn a red hue, and he fumbles his hand in the loose curls adorning his face. he almost looks torn, like he doesn't want to speak, or he doesn't know what to say. i felt bad, putting him on the spot like this. "oh, i dunno'...just..wanted to see you."
i smile softly, bringing my hands up to cover my face dramatically. "you're making me blush!"
i usually act like this-i don't know what makes me do it. it's partly a false sense of confidence, and partly my humour. it's not very funny, but kirk doesn't seem to mind.
he laughs softly. "sorry," he looks like he has more to say, but is holding himself back, biting his tongue. "oh, i, uh, actually..i've been tryna write some new riffs, and," he looks up at me with his pretty big brown eyes. "i dunno..i just, wanted to see if you wanted to, y'know..hear them."
i sprawl my hands out on the counter, gazing up at him with wide eyes. he looks, almost, nervous? shy?
i don't show it on my face, but kirk's words spring curiosity. and admiration.
"i'd love to hear them." i speak softly, my face showing no emotions other than adoration. for his music, and him, but he doesn't need to know that. hearing him play at the bar was fucking amazing, but alone? hearing new stuff? "i'd really like that, kirk."
