He likes these the most. Days where they accomplish absolutely nothing, talk about Ringo Starr and rent porn. He likes moments where her eyes catch his and where he knows nothing for certain (which he would definitely like to) but in this particular moment it doesn't quite matter yet.

He thinks, in particular, he likes her face. It isn't round and soft like a doll's, but her eyes are glassy and large and sometimes he can't quite tell whether they're green or blue. But they are lovely, and they are decorated with mascara and black smudges of pencil liner.

He figures one day he's going to fall in love with her, and for some reason he can't bring himself to mind.

Hearing about her past boyfriends (and girlfriends) makes a small dent. How easily she talks about them, what if she one day talks about him like that? How she let them go with such ease. He doesn't want this either. She flops back onto the bed and relaxes,

but he is staring past her into something he doesn't know.

Labels. Ultimately, they are what destroy them. Girlfriend, boyfriend, relationship, friendship. His friends ask what they are, and he can't really answer. Now he wants an answer from her, and she can't provide him with what he wants. He wants what she can't give him, and she is tired and he is antsy.

They are cooling off, and what used to be amusing and fun is annoying and pointless. Ringo Starr doesn't make her smile the genuine smile she used to give him. Shower sex, kisses on beds in IKEA in front of Chinese families, sitting on that bench admiring the intricate architecture of buildings. It ends and he suffers for both sides, because she suffers none. When he is still mourning their dead relationship, she is finding new romance.

She likes the bench and the buildings still. She can find him there whenever she wants to

but with a wedding ring on her finger.

He wonders if he'll see her again. Their last meeting seems like a conclusion, but she does what she wants without fear of consequence and she will probably dig her way into his heart again, ripping veins and arteries along the way.

He still can't bring himself to mind. (This vaguely worries him.)

In the twelve days between his last meeting with Summer and his first meeting with Autumn, he figures he's in something like limbo. He is making peace with his feelings for Summer and he is finding himself in nooks of buildings and sleek lines and old bricks, rough sketches that he does over and over again until he gets what he wants.

He still doesn't understand what Summer said, about "it" and how she knew exactly what "it" was when she saw it. What he's gotten out of their conversation is that Summer is selfish and that their beliefs have reversed. She's a girl so of course she knows what "it" is when it comes at her. He thought that he had "it" with her and now he thinks nothing of destiny and fate. What bullshit.

Somewhere in the back of his head, it stings. It stings when he remembers her words, that she's found, in some other guy, what she was never sure of with him. He wonders what it is. He's simple, and he can't understand her in the least.

One day, he thinks, he'll be truly happy for her, but for now there's a dull ache in the back of his head. Late at night thoughts of her swim around in his head, but what Rachel said about thinking of everything, it kind of helps. Because he doubts Summer really cares that she hurt him so much, if she can so easily come talk to him even while she knows he is aching for her.

But he is glad for the closure.

And if Summer's right, then destiny's going to bring him to someone else that will make him happy, too. Summer is rarely wrong, and one day he's going to be with somebody that makes him happy and that he can make happy, and he will be able to look back at this and smile.

look who's back after over half a year B)
half a year, right? september - june. yeah like .. nine months LOL mmk. wheee!
maybe more to come, depending on my mood because it has been officially summer vacation for me for the past
.. week :)

06,21.11