Don't let someone awaken your galaxies if they're not even interested in your stars.
The couch was empty when i woke up. As I laid in bed the night prior, I secretly hoped that he'd be there. I would ask him how he liked his coffee, or even his tea since it's the most stereotypical thing about a Brit, so that maybe I could learn one thing about him.
The blankets were neatly folded on sofa, where he slept last night. My lethargy got the best of me, and I laid down on the same spot he did. I didn't even think before my nose breathed in, and his scent seemed to open my eyes and wake me up. It was opulent, a musky yet classy smell. It would be feasible to get used to it.
I got up after a few minutes of having a liturgy committed to his scent, and went to fix myself a cup of morning coffee. The process is always too laborious to me, having to reach up into the tall cabinets, and then waiting for the rich bean to brew. And then I'm always left with a large surfeit left to go to waste, which is basically my coffee telling me I should have company to drink this with. How can a beverage discomfit me this much?
After I poured a cup and added my desired ingredients, I sat at the couch and pulled my notebook from the coffee table. I open a clean page and twirl the pen around in my digits.
All my mind could trace back to is last night. How Harry came to me after an anonymous belabored him, leaving him bloody and giving him no choice but to go to the last person he probably wants to see: me. Whatever malfeasance that happened last night, I was happy it happened, even if Harry did end up badly bruised and hurt. I may or may not slightly think he deserved it.
Maybe
Maybe what, Brinley? Elaborate.
Maybe you will remember the synergy our lips made...
Okay, we're getting there. Just a little further, so it can be a little more fascinating. This is supposed to be your magnum opus, so get your shit together.
Maybe you will remember the synergy our lips made...The need for you laced in my lipstick and the taste of what I call love. So please, kiss me a little longer; The world needs to know about this edification.
This is the most I've written in months. My manner of working hasn't been the best with all that's been on my mind. But, after rereading my writing, I realize that maybe this difficulty is what I need.
-
Danica can read me like a book, which is ironically hard to do, but she's been practicing for years. She invited me out to a party, which I declined, so instead we're staying in at her place and ordering a pizza for the both of us.
As I barged in through her door, I was happy to see her only company was a glass of red wine. She wore the same attire as me, simple leggings and a over sized t-shirt. I slipped my shoes off and joined her on the couch.
"The pizza should be here any moment." She starts, "I almost thought you weren't going to come. What took you so long?"
"I just got caught up in my writing. I haven't written anything in awhile, and I finally got a spark." I say, taking my hair out of it's messy ponytail. My hands slide through my damaged hair, and remind myself to see my stylist soon.
"What's that?" She says, referring to my inspiration.
I stare at the television before taking a shallow breath. "Harry showed up at my door last night, literally looking like he'd been hit by a truck. He had gashes all over his face and he was bleeding so much. Danica, I think he was being followed or someone was coming after him, because why else would he come to my doorstep?"
