Lil-Angel78

Ask any teenager and he or she will tell you that there is nothing more dull and pointless than sight-seeing. I was one of them… until I watched the sunset from Mount Sannine in Beirut, Lebanon. Growing up in an urbanized city like Montreal, I had yet to believe that I could find inner peace by being in direct contact with Mother Nature. Since I discovered that peace, I now know there is nothing more important than finding tranquil moments for that purpose. Maybe it was the breathtaking view or the feel of the cool mountain air; maybe it was the gentle aroma of the sea salt. All I know is that I’ve found my happy place.
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He had an old car. You know, the kind of car that you’re slightly embarassed to be seen in, yet deep inside, you’re glad you have a ride to begin with.

A ride. She would ride with him rarely, yet when she did, he’d take special care of her, and he’d make sure she was comfortable and happy. But he didn’t need to make sure of it…he didn’t know, but everytime she was with him, she would smile on the inside and wish the night would never end.
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She thought a lot. Mostly about him, but other issues corrupted her seemingly young mind. People saw her as a teenager waiting to experience new things and make helplessly immature mistakes, redeem herself, breathe and reboot. But she was not like that.

She refused to be caught in the stereotypical vicious circle that threatened her individuality, though she never made the effort to conserve this unique image of herself. It was an inner power she had never thought to use to her own advantage, though sometimes these advantages just flowed to her and she was too deep in thought to appreciate them. Some people would stick up their nose and call her ungrateful, rudely walk out of her life without any apparent reason…just shallow frustration.
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“A bird. That’s what you’re like…A bird.”
He grinned, the mango sunlight drowning his face in a dreamy pool of afternoon sun.
She grinned, too, and answered him, her eyes lit with a smile:
“Oh…and might I ask, how did you get the inspiration for that?”

Slowly, he lifted his arm and pointed across the street to the sidewalk, where a dirty-looking pigeon was picking at some seeds on the sidewalk.
They burst out laughing.
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Everytime she went downtown with him, she’d hold his hand extra tight. For some silly reason, she was always afraid they’d seperate and she wouldn’t find him. He didn’t have a cell phone, even after she had tried, for months, to convince him to get one. When they were walking on the busy sidewalks, they never spoke. There was too much to see and hear for them to lose themselves in a conversation. But the fact that his hands were curled around his, this subtle body contact, always made her feel closer to him than she usually did. One day, as they were walking across a busy intersection, he turned his face towards her and made eye contact. Her face fell, she was troubled by this sudden gaze in her direction:
“What..? What’s the matter?”
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“I’ve always wanted to be with you.
-No you haven’t. Can you cut the crap, please? she replied harshly.
-Do you even know what you’re saying?”

His anger was mounting. She saw his flushed cheeks, pinched lips and pained expression collide.
His anger made her frustration even deeper. She was supposed to be the angry one, yet he was spitting lies in her face and expecting a response.
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We talk like if there was a wall between us.

You love me like I’m made of brick.

I love you like you’re made of thin glass.

Oh baby, you’re walking on ice, you’re walking on thin ice.

But you don’t know that, you think you’re walking on brick, and that crushing noise you hear are not my bricks, that’s my heart, and you’re walking all over it.
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The clowns’ laugh had often haunted my dreams, awakening me in the darkest hour of the night to find my pillow damp with sweat and my mind a locked drawer of murky, omniscient thoughts. Tonight was different. I could feel sheer terror wash over me as I sat up in bed, panick-stricken and very aware of the darkness enveloping my room like a cloak, as if inviting gloomy spirits to spend the night. I glanced at the doorway and perceived the faint glow of the hallway lamp flickering restlessly. As I shuffled quietly across the room, I heard my parent’s indistinct voices:
“Problem with electricity…fix…basement.” Continue Reading »