ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
seven.
we made our promises beneath the sky, with the clouds and pines as our witnesses.
you always said that i saved you, that if it weren’t for me. you’d never know what love felt like or words like cassiopeia and cepheus. you said that you loved me more than life itself.
but i promise that you did more for me than i could ever have done for you..
six.
“…cirrocumulus, cirrus, stratus, stratocumulus...” i say as i point to each one. you’re quiet for a moment and the wind blows, and i swear i can hear it whisper along with the beat of your heart.
“what’s that one called again?” you ask me. we’re laying on the grass and its beautiful outside. you never had someone name the clouds for you (or love you for that fact). there’s a reflection of the sun in your eyes and my heart in your words.
“Altostratus,” i whisper.
five.
“what do you want to be when you grow up?” i ask him.
you walk two feet awayfrom me, take a deep breath and look deep into my eyes.
“alive” you breathe.
four.
were the oldest people on the merry-go-round by decades, and the flaps of your jacket whip against the tops of your thighs; your lips are chapped, and your eyes watering slightly from the slap of the wind, but i don’t think i’ve ever seen you looking happier.
three.
it takes him a while to start talking. i soon realize that his words are like four-leaf clovers. few and far-between.
“friends…” i don’t interrupt him and instead let him mull over what it is he wants to say next. . his sentences always start slow and finish in one breath as if he’s afraid he’ll run out of oxygen before he gets everything out.
after a few moments he gets it out, “wouldbenice.”
two.
its no surprise when the boy from the party sits down on my park bench three days later. i don’t look at him and he doesn’t look at me, but we scoot closer to each other until were almost touching.
i open my mouth to speak, but for once decide to let my silence speak for me.
we scoot even closer to each other than before.
one.
i sit down on the floor at alicia’s party next to a boy with stories in his eyes and pain in his too-angular-shoulders. i don’t know him. and he doesn’t know me but i instinctively reach out and grasp his pinky finger.
“will you be my friend?” i ask him quietly as he swings his eyes my way. it takes a minute for his eyes to focus and for his brain to process my question,
but i can see the answer in his eyes. <sub>
we made our promises beneath the sky, with the clouds and pines as our witnesses.
you always said that i saved you, that if it weren’t for me. you’d never know what love felt like or words like cassiopeia and cepheus. you said that you loved me more than life itself.
but i promise that you did more for me than i could ever have done for you..
six.
“…cirrocumulus, cirrus, stratus, stratocumulus...” i say as i point to each one. you’re quiet for a moment and the wind blows, and i swear i can hear it whisper along with the beat of your heart.
“what’s that one called again?” you ask me. we’re laying on the grass and its beautiful outside. you never had someone name the clouds for you (or love you for that fact). there’s a reflection of the sun in your eyes and my heart in your words.
“Altostratus,” i whisper.
five.
“what do you want to be when you grow up?” i ask him.
you walk two feet awayfrom me, take a deep breath and look deep into my eyes.
“alive” you breathe.
four.
were the oldest people on the merry-go-round by decades, and the flaps of your jacket whip against the tops of your thighs; your lips are chapped, and your eyes watering slightly from the slap of the wind, but i don’t think i’ve ever seen you looking happier.
three.
it takes him a while to start talking. i soon realize that his words are like four-leaf clovers. few and far-between.
“friends…” i don’t interrupt him and instead let him mull over what it is he wants to say next. . his sentences always start slow and finish in one breath as if he’s afraid he’ll run out of oxygen before he gets everything out.
after a few moments he gets it out, “wouldbenice.”
two.
its no surprise when the boy from the party sits down on my park bench three days later. i don’t look at him and he doesn’t look at me, but we scoot closer to each other until were almost touching.
i open my mouth to speak, but for once decide to let my silence speak for me.
we scoot even closer to each other than before.
one.
i sit down on the floor at alicia’s party next to a boy with stories in his eyes and pain in his too-angular-shoulders. i don’t know him. and he doesn’t know me but i instinctively reach out and grasp his pinky finger.
“will you be my friend?” i ask him quietly as he swings his eyes my way. it takes a minute for his eyes to focus and for his brain to process my question,
but i can see the answer in his eyes. <sub>
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
© 2009 - 2024 beneath-the-surface
Comments23
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Very sweet, I like the way you tell the story. I like the backwards style. 