Do you know?
Or at least it feels that way.
He wants so badly to tell her how he feels.
He imagines that he can feel the muscles in his jawline tensing like coiled wire, thinks that his tongue is curling with the promise of unborn syllables, can almost taste the vibration of his larynx as though he is about to speak.
He never does though.
Never will.
She sits beside him with liquid grace, in that way that she has one thousand times before.
He closes his eyes against her beauty like he has one thousand times before.
(He was born with eyes, but sometimes he wishes he was blind).
"How do you know when you're in love?" she asks him. He closes his eyes tighter.
(He imagines that he can feel the tendons in his jawline tensing like coiled wire).
I want love," she says quietly.
(He thinks his tongue is curling with the promise of unborn syllables).
"Please don't do this to me," she whispers.
(He can almost taste the vibration of his larynx as though he is about to speak).
But he can't do anything except close his eyes and choke against her onslaught of questions and fight the urge to give answers he wont, can't, shouldn't understand or need.
She is leaving now.
He watches her walk away from him for the last time, and would have given anything to have been born without eyes.
He knows that he should call her back, take her into his arms, and take pleasure in every coiling, curling, vibrating muscle as he kisses her and tells her every word he wants to say.
But he doesn't.
He was born without a mouth.
Short story by Inked.
Read 805 times
Written on 2005-09-03 at 02:56
Tags Sadness
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Without a Mouth.
He was born without a mouth.Or at least it feels that way.
He wants so badly to tell her how he feels.
He imagines that he can feel the muscles in his jawline tensing like coiled wire, thinks that his tongue is curling with the promise of unborn syllables, can almost taste the vibration of his larynx as though he is about to speak.
He never does though.
Never will.
She sits beside him with liquid grace, in that way that she has one thousand times before.
He closes his eyes against her beauty like he has one thousand times before.
(He was born with eyes, but sometimes he wishes he was blind).
"How do you know when you're in love?" she asks him. He closes his eyes tighter.
(He imagines that he can feel the tendons in his jawline tensing like coiled wire).
I want love," she says quietly.
(He thinks his tongue is curling with the promise of unborn syllables).
"Please don't do this to me," she whispers.
(He can almost taste the vibration of his larynx as though he is about to speak).
But he can't do anything except close his eyes and choke against her onslaught of questions and fight the urge to give answers he wont, can't, shouldn't understand or need.
She is leaving now.
He watches her walk away from him for the last time, and would have given anything to have been born without eyes.
He knows that he should call her back, take her into his arms, and take pleasure in every coiling, curling, vibrating muscle as he kisses her and tells her every word he wants to say.
But he doesn't.
He was born without a mouth.
Short story by Inked.
Read 805 times
Written on 2005-09-03 at 02:56
Tags Sadness
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
epohonci |
|
chasingtheday |
| Texts |
 by Inked. Latest textsThe Tulips All Have Died.Exit 129. Tire Fragments. Here You Are. Here I Am. Here We Were. 09-04-89 My favoritesThe Beech TreeTo the wind |
Increase font
Decrease