Thirst (Creative Response 2/26/16

Thirsting for him was the hardest thing she'd ever have to live with. Many had told her she would be fine without him; after all, she wasn't born needing him and had lived without him long before he came around. 

She thought -- believed -- much differently. She had come to the final conclusion that everyone is born with an insatiable thirst. They won't acknowledge it ever until something comes along to trigger it: that something, in her case, being him. 

And it was truly torture.

The worst part of it all was that he knew who she was. It would have been better if she was not existent to him; then there would be a good reason for him to not be with her. 

Yet, he knew her name, knew her face, had heard her voice when she answered questions in class, and had handed her her stuff with a treasured smile when she dropped it in the hallway. There was no way to forget him so easily. She held onto his smile whenever she thought of him, and of the way he so gently patted her shoulder when he said goodbye. The biggest crush had turned into the most intense fixation, driving her decisions and emotions over the edge. Her straight A's became B's, her sweaters became modest tank-tops, and her usually organized room was left cluttered. 

He was all she ever thought about, all she ever wanted. The thirst was taking over.

Hidden Place

Her eyes were wide open when he placed the back of his hand against her face. He gazed deeply into her heart-shaped face, secretly wanting her to gaze back with the same reverie he held, and knowing she would not. They stood there for what could have been all of eternity, compressed into a single second, holding every single archive of their touches.

"I was born with these hands to do this."

She finally closed her eyes as his hand trailed to her collarbone, and rested there. It laid still and did not move any further.

"Tell me I was made to do this. Tell me."

Her fingers reached up to encircle his, but she kept her eyes firmly closed to hide her soul. He could never know how she truly felt, or he would become content to stop chasing her forever. He could not have her. Not yet.

This was their hidden place, to which they ran away to when the game became null and void of purpose. When they returned to this place their game was renewed. She would then run away and he would follow her like always.

This time was different. She was not running away. She hated herself for it.

He pressed his lips to her temple.

Creative Response 2/11/16

"I absolutely cannot go a second without knowledge of his existence.

He isn't my phone, where I have to check things online every five seconds. He is this lingering thought, hanging over my soul in a constant rhythm, awaiting my inevitable response. I think of him and grow warm. If I don't have him, I grow even madder than the deities have destined me to be. I am unashamedly addicted to his existence, and as far fetched as it is, he is a drug to me.

He doesn't even know it."

Creative Response 2/5/16

My purpose is to create. Without this, I've nothing.

This is what I'd tattoo on myself to remember what I am.

And my name. Maybe I could tattoo a bunch of names to choose from. And those of people I'd like to remember. My family, of course; my best friend, why not; and him. He who I created so much for. This is why I must be reminded of my purpose, for I must be ready to create the art and music I lived for.

That was five minutes ago. I think I can remember on my own.

Creative Response 1/29

There goes the bride.

He remembered staring into her eyes with a sort of reverie, their past flashing through his vision quickly and mercilessly. The day they first met. Her confession to him months afterwards, and him ignoring that confession while moving onto someone else. They were cut off for a year, until he realized his mistake, and sought her again. And she always took him back with that strange kindness he knew her for. He left time and time again, until one day she put her foot down and tried to take her heart back.

And that time, he stayed. He never returned her heart. 

So they were together for a long time, her completely devoted to him and him trying his best to learn the meaning of devotion. They never had kids; she wanted them. He didn't. She vowed to do anything and everything for him, and went with his wishes.

It was her mistake.

Now she was gone. He couldn't feel her any longer. It was over for him.

There goes the bride, as her blood and tears streamed down his face.