It's not a story or anything, just a piece of writing that I had to write. It's a boy meets girl kind of thing, bit cliche, but dramatic. Kind of...review?
And she walks alone down the street. A cigarette in her hand, smoke curling from her perfect mouth. Her jeans are ripped and her t-shirt hangs awkwardly off her tiny frame.
Her bleach blonde hair is messy, but it sure looks good on her.
He stares out of his window at her, every detail fills his mind and his heart begins to race. Her chipped red nail polish, the scuffs on her unlaced converse trainers, the tiny heart tattooed in permanent marker on her wrist. The scars on her arms and the makeup on her face. She’s beautiful, but she doesn’t know it.
He wants to open the window, shout to her, and tell her he loves her but he can’t.
She walks the same way every day, on her way home from work.
He watches her all the way down the street until she turns into the house right at the bottom. All he sees of her is those 5 minutes when she walks into his world. He doesn’t know what goes on behind closed doors.
She walks past her dropout mother passed on the sofa surrounded by bottles.
Her dad’s long gone. She grabs the vodka from the cupboard and swigs from it; the cheap liquid burns her throat. She sits on the floor with the bottle in her hand, wanting to escape from it all. He sits at his window, wanting to see her again. She doesn’t want it to be like this, she just wants to be loved. He doesn’t want it to be like this, he want to tell her he loves her.
She takes another swig from the bottle and drags herself to her feet. Upstairs she puts her earphones in and lights another cigarette. He takes out his earphones and walks to the door. He’s going to do it.
She traces the scars on her arms, the pain she caused herself because of everyone else. She’s sorry she can’t be perfect. He doesn’t want her to be perfect, perfection is overrated.
She looks into the cracked mirror and hates herself, hates what she’s become. The tears come now, like they do every night. They’ve become like a comfort to her, just a broken girl with broken dreams in a world that’s too big for her.
She turns off the music and lies in the silence, listening to her breathing. He steps out onto the dark streets, his pale face illuminated in the lamplight. They belong together.
She sits up and grasps the scissors in her hand, the blade glimmers beautifully in the candlelight.
He stands outside her door, grasping the cold knocker. As she presses the blade into her arm he knocks the door. She stops, the pain subsiding. She rubs the red mark on her arm and stumbles down the stairs. She checks her reflection in the dirty mirror at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair is a mess and there is makeup down her face. She opens the door and finds herself face to face with the most beautiful boy she’s ever seen. His black hair sweeps across his pale face, and his piercing green eyes shimmer in the moonlight. She’s noticed him before, she notices him everyday. When she walks past his house on the way home, the way he sits at his window as if waiting for something. She’s fallen in love with him, but she didn’t even know it.
He’s in love with her and she doesn’t even know it. He leans forward; she can feel his breath on her face. Warm and slightly sweet. His soft lips meet hers and hesitate there for a moment, before he presses harder. Passion surges through her body and she wraps her arms around his neck. They remain entwined, two worlds collided. Lost together and never wanting to be discovered. Together at last.
