Never Leave (BWWM)

13 - the meeting. (pt. 1)

"I swear to every heaven ever imagined, if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakepeare from the grave so he can tell them every reason why he wishes he were born in a time where he could have a damn Gmail account. The other day after I taught my mother how to send pictures over IPhone, she texted me a blurry image of our Cocker Spaniel ten times in a row. Don't you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.

But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club while the rest of us fall in love over Skype. Send angry letters to state representatives, as we record the year's first sunrise so we can remember what beginning feels like when we are inches away from the trigger. Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did. Hashtag you're a pretentious asshole. Van Gogh would have taken twenty selfies a day. Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers nothing but heart-eyed emojis when she ran out of words. Andy Warhol would have had the world's weirdest Vine account, and we all would have checked it every morning while we Snapchat our coffee orders to the people we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.

This life is spilling over with eighty-five year olds rewatching JFK's assassination, and seven year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos. Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting what my father's voice sounds like. No longer must we sneak into our family's phonebook to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend. No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like, or how grasshoppers procreate. I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips in public parks on my cellphone and you will continue to scoff, and that is okay. But I hope, I pray that one day you will realize how blessed you are to be alive in moment where you can Google search how to say "I love you" in one-hundred sixty-four different languages." - Unknown.

Hello Everyone!

I hope you all liked the little starter up above. I don't know who wrote it, because I found it on an Instagram page, but when I saw it I instantly fell in love with it and just had to share! Would you guys like one of these in the beginning of every chapter? Like a small poem or quote or something? Let me know!

Anyways, back to the story.

THANKS FOR 1.55k READS GUYS, I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH, AHHH. ❤❤❤

Be My Escape - Relient K in MM.

Trevor in MM.

Enjoy! (;

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2 MONTHS LATER

I haven't gotten any good sleep in the past two weeks. My sleeping schedule is so fucked up that for a while, I didn't even try to fix it anymore. But now it's summer and I don't have to worry about it much. April doesn't like it, though. She doesn't like the bags that've formed under my eyes or the fact that my grades dropped a lot during the fourth quarter of school. She also doesn't like my newest habit: smoking. I had never even thought of doing it, but after I became so stressed about the whole Tracey thing, I felt that smoking would help a lot. She absolutely hates it; she's disgusted by it. She's even said that if I don't stop, she'll call this relationship quits.

And of course I don't want that. I want to be with April for a very long time and I'd hate it if our relationship ended over something as stupid as cigarettes. But she just doesn't understand. When that smoke enters my lungs I'm relaxed. I'm at peace for just a short amount of time before it's released through my lips and my mind floats back to my situation. I've even started calling it a situation like my mom does.