Short Story / Trouble.
I’ve sinned again. I’ve felt the skin that I should’ve left alone once more, betrayed the very hand that guided me and saught my redemption even when I…did not. I harbor the faint skittish memories of your touch and the way your rough, calluoused hands roamed the open fields that became a tapestry, a place for you to explore and discover things we’ve only dared dream of privately and even then…the deepest recesses were not enough.
When you lean against me, whispering near violent pleasantries…the words couldn’t matter less no…they couldn’t matter more. I need to know….
Is it me that..you think of late at night?
Do you dream in the technicolor melodies that compose a reposed symphony?
If I simply walked away…would you, could you, maybe stay?
You, me…we were there I remember thinking, “If only walls could stare,” as you pressed my back against the wood and I realized we were now mixed inextriciably with the grain. It reminded me of Spring and wine, you like an amber liquid darted across my tongue. Any taste was never truly, ever…no not taste enough. I remember the nights alone…nights when my heart was misleading and cruelly opted to no longer be my home.
Come closer.
Let me tell you the secrets and hand you the key to the box that I’ve kept under the bed, so close…so close, right next to me.
Could it be any easier to be so informally formal and perpetually not -there-? I cannot be sure so bring yourself near and let my hands continue to navigate the course that brought me here. If I did -that-...or maybe something else, could I cause the cherubic features that align themselves as the constellation that is your face to come to a fruition, to finally bloom? I wouldn’t crush the petals and violate the stems, I would be the forever and the never…I would keep the starry sky alight and there your exposed nature will remain.
I remember when I realized we were now mixed inextriciably with the grain, I knew after that moment, it’d never be the same. You reminded me of Spring and wine, I drank greedily from the cup that was your mouth.
Like an unabated beast…my breath was bated, I wasn’t sated and I knew that I’d fall once more.
I really should stop doing this, it will cause -nothing- but disrepair.
I really should stop doing this.
What was that you just whispered in my ear?
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I like the vulnerablity and passion I read in this piece. The moments expressed here of torment and seduction are visceral to me, and I think that deserves praise.
I am not a fan of the ellipses for pauses. I think it takes away from the brevity of whole sentences when you shortchange a couple words for an ellipsis.
I am not usually into romantic themes in novels and stories, so what I will say is probably just a matter of preference for certain styles. I believe a lot of the phrases you use can be examples of “purple prose”. Colorful, decadent words like “I wouldn’t crush the petals and violate the stems, I would be the forever and the never…I would keep the starry sky alight and there your exposed nature will remain.” I feel like there isn’t as much meaning there as there is wanting to get the words out until your next meaningful sentence. I’ve been there before, especially at the beginnings of stories, where I need something to get me going. I’m not sure if this is the case with you. Maybe I’m just not getting every metaphor, but I think it clutters up the read. You have enough passion in the story without the flowery wording. But then again, it could just be a matter of taste.
Thanks for sharing this with us.
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Loved the wording and the way you brought out the feelingd s young people get when they are experimenting and feel it is wrong to do yet it feels so good you do it anyway. You have a writing career ahead of you I am sure.
Very well written, it flows brilliantly, and you have a great use of language here. It’s not really my kind of thing. I’m not one for romance ect. But regardless this is still a very well written peice.
It’s nice idea you’re trying, but i didn’t get any sense of character, no affiliation with the narrator. And that, i think, is vital for the piece to work well. I think you maybe spend too much time trying to make the piece ‘wordy’ and not enough time concentrating on the themes that run through it. There’s no context for the reader, and that, i think, is perhaps the thing that’s most lacking. It’s more like a prose poem than a short story.
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