You're Poison

three ☪

Ever since that day, with her, he had been going insane.

It had been exactly twelve days, almost two weeks if you will, ever since he stupidly fell in love with a girl he didn't know but oh god he wanted to get to know her.

He had been coming to the same art gallery, every day, in hopes of catching this girl he was in love with with no such luck.

The people that worked there must've thought he was crazy, looking at the same damn art every day.

But if he had to look at art every day just to find this girl, then so be it.
There's worse ways to die.

He was looking at Mona Lisa by Leonardo DaVinci.

He studied it carefully.

He thought, I want to love someone so god damn much to paint this girl and take years just on her lips.

He couldn't even imagine a love that huge.

He suddenly got angry at how unfair that DaVinci could love her and he could not love like that.

He thought about Lilliana and his heart ached.

For they were both breezes blowing in opposite directions.

"Fuck." He muttered, shaking his head scuffing his black boots along the ground.

With his eyes studying the ground he rounded the corner and smacked right into somebody.

"Sorry." He muttered in a not-at-all-sorry manner, eyes still fixated on the ground.

"Steven?"

He looked up.

Holy shit, he thought, it's her.

"It's you." He breathed, blinking.

"It is me." She smirked, shifting on her feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," he replied slowly, "I like art. So I come to these things called art museums. Weird, huh?" his lips twitched, threatening to turns upwards.

"No shit." She rolled her eyes, running her fingers through her un-godly white hair.

He took a sharp intake of breath.

It's hurricane season in my chest, he thought.

"Want to look at art with me?" He asked.

"Oh my god, yes." She said, walking up to a painting on the wall.

She studied the art whilst he studied her.

Suddenly she turned to him.
"Art is just another form of screaming."

His lips twitched again.

"Is that so?" He asked, studying the painting.

"Oh yeah, definitely." She said, walking up to another piece of art. "You know how some people get their aggressions out by running, working out, or screaming? I get my aggression out by painting."

He studied her face.

"And-"
She continued to talk while he kept studying her.

He looked at her as if she was stitched together with every beautiful piece of poetry he had ever read and it terrified him.

This feeling was new and it terrified him.