faodail; sdmn imagines [open]

five. jj

I CAN'T MOVE AWAY FROM ALL THE THINGS I SHOULD HAVE DONE. MY MIND IS STILL HOOKED ON 'US.'

her hair matches the sun falling onto darkened fields of corn silk. her eyes are the deep blue of the ocean, yet the cornflower sky at the same time. her voice could play on repeat for a week, he'd happily let it, and still he'd never tire of it.

he wanted to make her laugh when they recorded. it's what he always tried to do because it was the sound from which all happiness is derived from, and he couldn't get enough of it. he was addicted.

"do you remember the way her hair turned golden in the summer?" his mind would ask him. and he did. it was as if the sun had ran its yellow fingers through her hair and kissed her cheeks, coloured everywhere except the crow's feet around her eyes. 'cause she smiles too much, and always will.

"do you remember the flutter you always got when you made her laugh?" it was the best thing to hear, to feel, to do. and he loved it, loved her.

"what about the time you went to spain together? for five days? do you remember that?" of course he did; he loved when he got lost and she used her spanish skills and found him. he loved their rock they jumped off into the sea — neither of them were brave enough to climb to the top. he loved it, though he never admitted to it, when they went out and got drunk and woke up the next morning in the same bed.

he didn't love it when they agreed to never mention it again; he was never brave enough to tell her he loved her.

another thing he didn't love: when he went home the next day, and she stayed there with her family for another week. one week without her. he missed her then, and he misses her now.

now, when she is gone and all the company he has to offer is a drunken sigh and a whisper of regret as he falls asleep alone when she is somewhere else, in someone else's arms. 'cause he was never brave enough, just like with the rock, with the bed, to tell her. but god, he wished he was.

all for the fear of ruining a friendship that meant more to him than it ever should have done; because now, in the quiet of the night, he was all alone.

again.

and nothing can change anything now, but he is not one for leaving things on slammed doors and broken hearts and tears on both their faces, because he was too goddamn scared to tell her how he felt. he wants to try to change things, even if it's too late.

so, he pulls on his shoes and coat and tries to stop the effervescence in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again. 'cause really everything is just his fault — that they're no longer friends, that they were never anything more than friends, that he fell for her.

before he goes, he decided to check her twitter, and cringes at the profile picture of her and her new guy when it used to be them. and her most recent tweet makes him pull off his shoes and sit down angrily on the bed. makes him reach for the half-empty bottle to bless his mind with the dizzy feeling and the acidic stench as it entered his throat. anything was better than the pain he was feeling in his heart.

betrayal, loss, sorrow, were but a few.

"do you remember when you went to spain together?"

"yes." he whispered out loud, and took another gulp of the drink, the tears already falling on his cheeks.

"well, this time she's gone without you."

—ahh im so sorry they're all sad it's what i write best. ill try and make some of the rest happy again lol. check out my miniminter book on my main molliest