Colour

If anyone has ever seen my bedroom they will know how miss matched and colourful it is. I have blue walls and a orange rug and my furniture doesn't match from years of separate pieces being replaced when they broke. I have a black sheet on my bed and a dark blue duvet with flowers on and loads of pillows. Last night I slept on crisp white sheets in a hotel room and it made me think of a post I saw on Tumblr. 

Tumblr is obsessed with soulmate theories that could be adapted to suit fan fiction and one of them is that you only see black and white until you meet your soulmate. My world is already so colourful from the new people I meet to my old scrapbooks I made in primary school and my world gets brighter and more full of colour every day and therefore I can't imagine it changing that drastically. 

My world may not change that much, someone else's might. 

One Year On

This Saturday will be the one year anniversary of the end of my secondary school life. This Saturday also happens to be one of my best mate's birthday as well, yes my last exam last year was on a Friday the 13th on my mate's birthday... and it was maths.

Lots of things have changed over the past year such as; my hair colour, my glasses prescription, where I go to "learn", and the people I interact with on a daily basis. These have all been good changes, except the glasses thing as I am slowly getting more blind, but some things have stayed the same and it's good that they have. For example; although my old mates and I all have new friends and new people that we choose to spend our days with, we have all invited each other to birthday parties because we know it just wouldn't be the same if we weren't all there.

Last month my friend's mum did that parent thing where they tell their child's mates things that their child wouldn't tell them themselves. I, and a few others in the room, were subjected to a short speech on how her daughter misses us when we can't even see each other once a month when once upon a time we couldn't be separated. Those of us in the room decided there and then to try get us all to see one another at least once a month, even if it is just for lunch and as summer is just around the corner once again it presents the perfect opportunity for just that.

My own birthday is next month and even if I can't have a proper party, I am making them all come and see me, like the overpowering dictator god I am to them ( We all have a character from Marvel's Avengers that we associate with and I am Loki, of course).

A year on from leaving a five year long torture session in hell and the people I dragged through with me are still with me now. Thanks for that guys, Satan sends her regards.

Torture of the best kind

His lips were soft. Too soft. Like kissing a cloud of vaporised candy floss. There was no harshness there either, only dainty chick pecks. They were very pink, as pink as pomegranate seeds, which are rather red now that I think about it, as just as sweet. 

It was too fast, the experience that is. He was slow. Drawing out the nips and tongue flicks, he paced it like a long distance race. Sometimes repetitive and easy and occasionally the rare trip up where the crowd gets rattled again. It was also like a sprint. The excitement and thrill was over all too quickly. 

Breathing didn't matter, in fact we forgot how to. We were in a world where we didn't have to inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. Somehow we still managed to hitch our breaths, the gasps coming after the shivers still expired from our trachea. I am still not sure my avioli have recovered completely. 

I don't know why we stopped but he left a ghost. It haunts me every time someone new comes along. It traces a replay of our time on my skin so I am always reminded. It's torturous to live through it day after day, like the cogs constantly turning, pulling your limbs further away from your torso. 

 

I can't stop it. I don't want to.