Sticking Permanent

Sticking Permanent

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Wed, May 24, 2017
No one was like her. Everyone had matching tattoos except for Bear. She was the freak. She would always be a freak. She was the one who had the tattoo that covered her entire body. Changing constantly, no one matched hers. She wasn't born like the others. Her friend Tabby found her soul mate when she was only sixteen. Imagine that . . . A girl finding their soul mate at that age, so young and beautiful. She was a delicate little butterfly, sprouting her wings into this world with an unclear path. But it wasn't unclear because she had someone by her side who she could explore it with. Bear her side was dead air, empty. Her imagination couldn't even keep her entertained. She only lived in a fantasy. A fantasy where it stayed a fantasy. It never could be real because she wasn't beautiful. She was forever marked by her thoughts permanently tattooed at her skin. But what if she wasn't real? What if the universe around her was someone else's story? Roman can't tell until he meets Bear, falling deeply in love as he works on his paintings to keep the rent up. But once he meets Bear everything changes only leaving painting splattered to mark the floor.
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#43
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"It's like . . . you know how at the end of summer camp or college everyone packs all their stuff up and drives off before you so they can go home and reunite with family, and the whole camp is empty and you're standing in the middle of your vacant dorm because your ride isn't here yet?" ". . . Yeah?" "It's like that. Immortality is being left behind at camp alone, and you don't know why." She couldn't remember her name. Didn't really matter, plenty of substitutes available. They almost numbered the amount of years she'd been in this world. Luckily for her, there was one reason she was still here, and as soon as she figured out what the hell it was she could fix it and move on. He remembered her. And what she looked like, how she took her coffee, everything. He couldn't get her out of his head. She was his muse, a glimpse into the impossible where he may finally have something to write about. But what happens when inspiration turns into love, especially with someone who is unable to reciprocate it? Does tragedy or intimacy await them? What is destiny, really?

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