Daisy Chains

walls

a/n - not really proud of this one but oh well. also the first few paragraphs repeated from another part of 'daisy chains'. 

♥♥♥

One night we are lying on the floor, our smiles too bright and our gaze intoxicated. I swirl the sharp liquid in my mouth and it steals the pain from the demons I am festering internally.

We are laughing about something stupid, our hands entwined. Your palms are cold but your gaze is warm – laughter spilling from your soft lips. And I want to kiss you whenever you are talking or distracted or singing or asleep - I want to kiss you in every single instant.

You prise the bottle from my hand with an inebriated giggle, raising the vial to your lips. I love you not for the way you dance with my angels, but for the way the sound of her voice silences my demons. Of all the flowers, you are the prettiest one.

We can barely keep our eyes open. My lips burn from the bitter sting of alcohol and the amount of time they’ve spent colliding with yours. A soft melody fills the space between the endless dimensions of the walls and the ceiling and your smile. I don’t know where the song is coming from, or what song it is, but all I know is that the mellow acoustics which fall on the backdrop of a singer’s husky croon resonate in the lining of my heart, just like your name.

Outside, the sky is a fusion of inky tears. The auburn glow of autumn fights with the pastel beam of sunrise and a thick navy blanket tries its best to drown the colours, like the sky is unwilling to give up the night to the light and hope of day just get. It’s a sight blurred by an intoxicated gaze and one I have not seen often.

“Early mornings are underrated,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper but still screaming out through the empty space.

“Early mornings or late nights?” you mumble through a thick accent.

“Both,” I conclude. My head rests in the crook between your head and your neck and the warmth which radiates off you sets my skin on fire. We are talking in circles and I think I am losing my mind because it mirrors the way the fan on the ceiling rotates constantly. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

“I love you,” the words are spilling past your lips like the tears that fell from my eyes just hours ago. I think in the moments you smudged them away with your shirtsleeves I loved you back but in the hazy light of morning you are just another hair on the back of my neck.

I choke on a response. “I…hope that’s the alcohol speaking.”

You laugh a bitter laugh. “Maybe. Maybe it’s the alcohol speaking, but they’re definitely my words. God, I love you.”

Your words are weighing me down like cinder blocks strapped to my chest. I’m staring at a blinding white ceiling that only morphs into your smile. Every time I look at you I hold my breath, scared that I’ll say what’s on my mind. Your name may burn in the lining of my skin but it does not flicker in the window behind my ribcage.

“I can only adore you,” I whisper.

The smile which once tainted your lips is crumbling and so is the ceiling that my unfocused gaze is focused on.  

You crack a watery smile. “Please tell me that’s the alcohol speaking.”

I laugh a bitter laugh. “Maybe. Maybe it’s the alcohol speaking, but they’re definitely my words. I do not love you.”

Your face contorts into the ceiling, staring and blank. The walls are high. The ceiling fan stops spinning. You don't stop loving me.