ethereal : it oneshots

love is blind

pairing: stozier

hey cupid, next time? hit us both.

and like, all the way through, too. because now everything is sour. every time i go to the museum, or an amusement park, or the fucking mall, i taste blood in my mouth from even thinking about his laughter. thinking about the stupid shirts he picked up, the way he squeezed my hand, or his kisses. god, i taste each kiss in each spot like i have been gut punched. and he kissed me a lot. i remember each and every spot. i don't like van gogh anymore. each van gogh painting is a reflection of him holding his hands on my waist and kissing me gently. his lips on mine, waiting, resting there, until they're ready to move on. he had a gentle side, kinda.

and there i go again. and i'm back in his bedroom. i'm listening to him talk, like normal, and suddenly he shuts up. i think maybe i accidentally uttered a "beep beep" but my lips feel glued shut. i part them to take a breath in, and he's kissed me. he's fucking pecked me, and i forget all about that breath i was going to take. instead, it's spent digging my fingers into the back of his hair and kissing him again, and again, and again, and again. it was sloppy, and ugly, and very uncomfortably wet, and i'm sure my teeth accidentally grazed richie's tongue once or twice, but it went on for a couple minutes, until i had to look away to get him to stop. i got him to stop so we could talk about our feelings, but all he said was that he liked me. red flag one, right?

but something in the way he kissed me and the fact that if i sat still for long enough on my own, his phantom lips would be there, and i could imagine kissing him again. thinking about him crawling on top of me to kiss me and i just--

so you can imagine that it hurts to drive down his street, or to sit on a bench at a park,
without him, or to drift around in the gift shop of a museum. there's nothing that doesn't connect to him in some simple, bullshit way. i can't listen to any of the music from the posters covering his walls. i can't look at album covers in fear i might recognize one from his ever-growing cd collection. i used to talk to the stars and the moon about him. i might not believe in astrology affecting our world or whatever, but they were the only ones i could ever talk to about him. they listened, and they knew how grateful i was to have him. they must have known, right?

i thought you hit him cupid, i really did. i guess you really only grazed his skin. i thought he loved me! it wasn't even his kisses that made my heart flutter the most. god, i hate the word flutter. but no, it wasn't the kisses. you get used to 'swapping spit' after a while, and it gets a little old. it was the small fucking moments. when he called me his boyfriend for the first time. when he brought me a blanket when i was sick because i felt freezing. when he knew what a sensitive day for me looked like, so he helped me through them. and now i can't fucking stand him!

i have so much to say to him, and yet so little. i want to say FUCK YOU because that's what he deserves. i hate him. i hate him for hurting me. i hate him for being him and having such a memorable laugh. i hate him for making me think he was the victim. i hate him for thinking he could get away with that. i hate him for getting away with it! i hate him for making me taste him in everything i do. i hate him for making me think i was a mistake. i hate him, i hate him, i hate him! i hate him for leaving me, and i hate that i still love him. i see now why hurricanes are named after people.

"love is blind"

what fucking bullshit. love is only partially blind. as a matter of fact, he sees fine through coke-bottled glasses. and you know what else love is? a fucking prick.