Touch

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Wind is what blowed through her hair. Hands are what interlace so gracefully. Our eyes were what would connect when we felt a deep hunger for each other.

She was my everything.

It was a typical Wednesday night, the nights where I'd enjoy the fresh Summer air by long boarding down abandoned roads and dreaming of a fresh life. A life in my complete control. A life where obstacles didn't exist.

She was an obstacle.

I stopped just for a moment to catch my breath and as the wind picked up, I reach for a dead leaf on the concrete and started rubbing my hands together. It began to crumple.

I was her leaf.

Only I was wasn't dead, you see. I was full of life and I gave her everything. Everything.
I sighed, picked my longboard up, and began to walk down the mysterious road. My brain began to pound and then suddenly, all the memories we shared were just there. The nights that I weaved my stubby fingers into her thick hair to get the tangles out. The night that we made love for the first time in her room as we tried our hardest to muffle the moans and pants. The pain and the pleasure.

I'd like to believe that pain would never take over, but the pleasure ran away as she did.

She left me, and believe me, I tried to scream out to her, but she didn't listen in the end. She didn't care in the end.

So as the wind blew through her hair as she walked out the door, and as our hands ripped apart when she escaped from my grasp, and when our eyes locked for the last time, I knew that things would change.

I hate to acknowledge this pain
I hate to acknowledge I'm hurting
But when everything seems to change
Who am I to stop the tables from turning?

•••
Okay, I actually have no idea what this is. I was looking through my drafts, and when I saw this I was like, hmmm, that should be...out there.
So, yeah, I published something after not engaging in this site for a while. Who knows, maybe I'll keep the habit up.
-Laela