The bottle spun on the concrete floor,
everyone waiting in anticipation,
wondering who I was going to kiss,
or even reject,
then suddenly it landed on,
you.
Our eyes met and I felt myself drawn close to you,
as you gently planted a sweet,
short kiss on my deprived lips,
leaving a distinct taste of cider,
lingering on my tongue.
As the bottle made its' way through the battlefield of hormone induced teenagers,
it placed its' final gaze upon me,
once again,
with you.
I felt everything in me shake with excitement,
and the dread of my imagination wandering off,
to her,
on the phone and all eyes on us,
apart from her's.
She made her feelings present at the beginning of the day,
stating that she couldn't watch you kiss another girl,
and I, though I said nothing, felt my head nod in reconciliation.
I shook the feeling from my heavy,
yet weak shoulders,
continuing the night,
as if it was only the beginning of the day.
My mind wandered off from the group,
the thoughts of playful lust and flirting,
clogged my brain like a drain,
then I turned around to see,
you kissing another fragile girl,
just like you kissed me.
The feeling travelled down my throat,
burning with a toxic taste,
of cider,
finally reminding myself that,
of course you wouldn't have picked me,
that's how it's always going to play out.
Taking the last few gulps of cider,
the night continued and I,
felt alone and punished by it all,
waiting until the sun would rise,
everyone would regret what they had done,
yet it was only 11 o'clock.
A sudden moment gleamed into vision,
you pulled me aside and whispered to me,
all the soft sweet nothings I've been dying to hear,
for all of my life.
Yet we all soon realised the following morning,
that it was all lies.
A dear friend warned me,
he told me to not get too close,
in fear of me winding up hurt or confused,
and I quietly scoffed,
how could someone so nice,
so caring and kind,
hurt someone they admit they care about?
The last thing I remember from that,
cool August night,
everyone wrapped up in tents and warm cloths,
you whispered the other girl's name,
my dear friend,
you whispered three times.
With no response,
you put your arm around my petite body,
looking up at your half grinning face,
I whispered "i like you too",
while you planted a light heavenly kiss,
upon my undeserving lips.
Even though you knew that,
this all meant nothing,
because it was the cider,
it wasn't you,
it will always be the cider.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
Poetry(n). A blend of homesickness, nostalgia and deep longing for something, especially one's home in Wales; an ode to the loss of our homeland, our language and our traditions. •I update this quite infrequently :(•
