Sometime's Silence is Someone's Loudest Cry

She Was so Beautiful

“She was so beautiful. When I first touched her, I felt the innocence radiating off of her skin even before my hands were traveling all over every square inch of her body. They say, you can’t fall in love with someone just by touching them, but God whoever ‘they’ is, they’re so damn wrong. I fell in love with her the first time I touched her. When I was thirteen, it wasn’t common for a girls hand to be between another girls thighs. When I was thirteen I didn’t know how to touch a girl in places that would make them moan in pleasure, I didn’t know what it took to have my innocence willingly sliding between my fingertips, but that night I was a pro, I was a mixture of every sex-crazed person you could ever imagine. Her skin was silky and woven out of promises she intended to keep. Her skin was innocent, unscathed and unknowing of the pleasure it could be provided. Free of scars, free of anything that would ever make you think that she hadn’t just been born. My hands memorized every inch, every crevice, of her body. My mind knew her every thought, behind her every action. And when she left me, it wasn’t easy to touch someone else. Sometimes my hands would travel from a girls waistline to her thighs, but my mouth would suddenly whisper apologies, made-up appointments, family get togethers. So when I found myself lying next to the body I had written books on, the mind I had read stories from, my hands were eager to trace from the freckle on her chest all the way down to the freckle that lay between her thighs. My hands were eager to read the stories I could recite to you with my eyes closed. But when my unknowing hands came close to her chest, the innocence I once knew so very well had clearly slipped between the pores of her skin and became just a memory inside of her experienced mind. Still, my hands traveled, eager to know what was lying on her pale, still beautiful, skin. It was like seeing the cover to a book, you’ve read at least a million times, but opening it to find a different story, different stories, that lie within the pages. I felt for skin that I had remembered to be unscathed to feel the ink tattoo that was now lying on her rib cage. My hands memorized this for the first time, and my mind was ready to inhale the sweet scent of this new creation that she had put together upon her skin. I slid down to her belly button to feel, what I expected to be bare skin to a silver object dangling beneath, holes she had created in a body that was once so innocent, a body that only had known the feel of my fingertips against it. I felt for her arms and the chill-bump like texture of them, to be relieved that they were still intact. My hands lingered there to reminisce on the only thing that they could. Only to travel to her wrists, where scars had been threaded into her icy blue veins, scars that did not tell me stories, but tragedies. It burned to touch her there. Her body was still silky, but woven with unkept promises, and tiny white lies to her parents on saturday nights. I tilted my lips to hers and tried to convince myself these were terrible fairytales that her body was telling me, only to taste the mint gum, unlike mine, of a girl that she had found comfort in when she parted from my grasp. I tasted a boy that never knew how to tell her what exactly she meant to him. I tasted an attention-seeking girl that had been ripped to pieces by the heartbreak that my once innocent angel had provided. My lips were shocked to the touch, my hands prepared to read every god damn tragedy that had been intertwined in her skin, her bones. Because I also tasted a girl with soft hands, that my little tragedy had been waiting to come home to since she left their embrace.”

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