Permanent Letters
2003-09-07 @ 10:54 p.m.

Carving the note on the school desk to the anonymous lover in the next class. He sat here, or so you thought.

Safety pin digging at the pads of your fingers as you dug at the wood of the desk, almost drawing blood, but you haven't noticed just how much your hands hurt, yet.

The skin was lifted from around your nails, at the pressure you were making to carve into the hard wood. It splintered easily, to your surprise. These old desks were brittle. You were brittle.

Wood shavings, chunks, flew past your face, into your eyes and made them water. Your eyes watered. Was it the note making you cry, or the dust, the dust on the mutilated wood?

I've only seen you once, maybe twice, but I've already found I have a thing for you. I watched you in the hall, the way you moved, and I didn't want to look away. My friend tells me you sit here, maybe she's lying, she always seems to, but I hope that isn't the case this time. You've taken me over, and I don't want you to stop. Never stop.

Love, this girl

You looked back, read, and reread the note, over and over again. You noticed the pain in your fingers, the pain in your hands.

The skin around your nails bled, and you stuck a finger or two in your mouth, to stop the bleeding. The world was spinning, swirling, and you were high on adrenaline, high on blood and wood scraps, you were high on the moment.

Your friend asked you what was wrong when she saw you biting at your fingers. Frantic was what you were, as you stared at the permanent letter addressed to the anonymous boy.

Frantic, bleeding, and in regret.

Blinded by the idiocy that comes with sucker love and permanent marker fumes, numbed by adrenaline and the taste of blood. You never meant to write that note, that letter, the permanent letter to Anonymous, the boy you claimed to love.

It seemed like a good idea at the moment, but that moment is gone.

You were high on the moment, high on everything around you, but the high is gone.

Everything's gone but the permanent letter.

...and another perfect moment lost.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I'm crazy-obsessed with "Brian-Molko-Boy", this kid in my friend's school who has hair like Brian Molko did in his Black Market Music days. I'm high on him...


Listening to: "Neverender" by Coheed and Cambria

<<before - after>>

The Weather Underground - 2008-11-12
- - 2008-05-06
She knows I can read. - 2008-05-06
William Jacobson - 2008-05-02
Lost Boys - 2008-04-30

everything © Claudia (2003-2008)