Ever since I saw the new boy I have been infatuated with the idea of him. I have a blurry idea of him burned into my head.
--
// pink lemonade- the wombats //
I blast music out of my pink beats pill when I'm in the steamy shower once again. The sound on it is getting weaker every time I use it while I shower- the steam is getting into it. what shit quality.
I shower twice a day, my hair and face get so oily it's needed. I also enjoy the shower. I'm warm, free to sing as loud as I wish and I get clean.
"Another magical Friday night/ I think I'll sit this one at home/Unusual for me I know, but please go ahead"
The lyrics flow in the hot air around me. By far my new favorite album. It doesn't top the 1975 by the 1975 in any way shape or form but it's nice to switch things up.
Usually I'm out with Amber somewhere on Fridays. I just haven't been feeling it lately. I needed to think or write and just clear my mind.
"Does he kiss you till your lips explode?"
The words ring in my ear. The chorus had always been my favorite part of the song. I shift my thoughts to the new boy. I don't even know his name. It frustrates me. He doesn't know mine, I reassure myself.
--
It's been a while since I've written, but it eases my mind, so I sit down in my towel and begin to scribble word-vomit all over my black moleskin notebook.I love poetry because there's no rules to it. Could throw a random curve ball into it and it's still poetry.
Whenever I do end up writing I zone out. Nothing can bother me while I am writing. It's a nice oasis. My mind can wonder freely, into the depths of my body and corners of my thoughts. Although My writing makes sense to me, the order and organization of my ideas never fail to make at least 2 out of 5 people confused. One of the two is Amber. Maybe she doesn't care enough to put the effort into reading it and processing it, or maybe she just flat out doesn't understand it. Once she told me she couldn't read 80% of what I wrote because my hand writing is half cursive and half print.
I peer down at my chicken-scratch.
YOUR WORDS FILL UP MY BRAIN
LIKE GAS FILLS UP A CAR
YOUR WORDS FLOAT IN ME
LIKE THE BLOOD IN MY VEINS
YOUR WORDS ARE SO BRIGHT
LIKE LOOKING AT THE SUN FOR TOO LONG
YOUR WORDS ARE IMPRINTED
LIKE A TATTOO ON MY BRAIN
YOUR WORDS STING EVERY INCH OF ME
LIKE A JELLYFISH HAD STUNG ME
YOUR WORDS MAKE ME STOP
LIKE A RED LIGHT
YOUR WORDS ARE SO CLEAR
LIKE THE TEARS ROLLING DOWN MY FACE
I throw my book across the room and break down. I'm pathetic for acting like this. He ended it with me for Christ's sake, I need to get over it.
I need to get out of the house; it's 8:49. I grab my bag and run out of the house.
Not like anyone will be looking for me anyway, I'm home alone like normal.
YOU ARE READING
The Smell of Coffee
Romancein a small town coffee shop two young souls meet on a rainy mid-January day, leading to a series of lovely coffee encounters and shy remarks. -based on a true story-
