Thursday, 19 January 2017


I'm hopelessly in love with a whole vortex of memories. From putting a bullet in his head in that first-shooter game, to simply waltzing at midnight to that overplayed Owl City song. And I'm tempted to go back.

He wasn't the kind of person who brought out the best in you. 

Or the worst, for that matter. No; he was one of those incredibly rare, incredibly addictive souls, who just brought out the most in you. Of everything. He had the ability to make you feel so alive, so euphoric, that you'd be willing to drop everything, and follow him across the nine hells and back, just to keep getting your fix.

So here I am twitching in frustration, because I can't get my fix. Withdrawal.

And then, I'm back there. In that golden field, the sun in our eyes, the taste of cheap beer on our lips. It feels like a moment stolen right out of the pages of Byron and Wordsworth. In the maddening stillness. Away. Alone. With you. Comparing scars and quoting the romantics.

"Let's never leave." I say. 

A few minutes later we are dusting bits of grass and traces of each other off our clothes and hurrying back to make it in time for our next class.

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