There’s this inevitable feeling of that I’m not going fall in love. The possibility of never having a inseparable bond between someone who is not family. The continuous feeling of seeing something in someone that I absolutely adore. It’s a certainty of not connecting with anyone fully, and not being committed to a relationship. It’s that feeling of not having someone see beautiful qualities that I can’t possibly see for myself.

“Sing for me” She begged of him. They were driving upstate to her parent’s home, the drive was four hours and she was crazily bored. 

He looked at her for a brief moment, moved his mouth pretending to sing a tune, and went back to concentrating on the road . The traffic was steady, cars moved at a normal pace, and surprisingly no accidents. She gripped the bulk of his arm, clutched his skin with her nails, and purred like a cat needing a good rub. She fell in “like” in the summertime, spent almost every waking hour with him, and she hadn’t made love with him. Committed to her word, she promised herself she won’t undress her wounds until she was in love. So far, she lasted for two years, and sometimes longed for someone inside of her. 

“Remember how you sang in the shower?, do it just like that, and I promised I would leave you alone” She put her hands in a prayer stance to emphasize her point.

He fell in love in December, and attempted to attack his feelings with hammer. She leaded the way in their adventures, he was merely the designated driver, and sometimes spoke in her conversations with herself. She did that often, spoke to herself about how she felt, never really speaking to him directly about inner emotions. They met at an hospital, both were there for unfortunate events, and barely separated ever since. She held him hostage sometimes in her house, forced him to watch bad reality t.v. shows, and dance to overbearing house music. But, when she goes outside, she has a new liking, and it kills him. She does stuff at random. 

Once, they were in a supermarket talking about organic foods, and suddenly she disappeared.

“I just don’t see the point of eating organic foods, we all are going to die anyways, might as well eat what we enjoy” He said, grabbing the nearest saltiest popcorn he can find.

“That’s the thing, there are so many premature deaths in the world, which could all be prevented if we stop damaging our bodies” She looked at him intently, went into the shopping cart, and grabbed the popcorn out.

He was about to refute her idea of healthy living, when suddenly she was under his nose. She was inches shorter than him. so she always managed to be under him, but never this close. Making him even more uncomfortable, she pushed him out of the aisle, into an open area full of people, and dived her mouth into his lips. Her tongue went all around his mouth clumsily and stayed there for a minute.He didn’t want to touch her because he feared she would stop. After all, they never kissed before, and never been with each other on an intimate level. Instead, he pushed his hands into his pockets, and let her take control. She grabbed at his shirt attempting to rip it off, and lowered her hands down to genitals. People started to gather around, most were appalled, and embarrassed parents covered their curious children’s eyes. She was about to unzipper his pants, when finally a cashier had enough, and demanded an end to the madness. But, she kept going. She pulled the little bits of his hairs, clutching onto it for dear life, and gnawed at his lips. Like a predator coming after his prey, she held him and refused to let go. He felt like his genitals was about to explode in his pants. Before his body can resist temptation, she finally stopped. She removed himself from under him, pulled herself together, and walked out of the doors. He couldn’t figure out what made her do that impulse move, but it made him come out of skin. And, oddly enough, he liked it.

There’s this conflicting spirit haunts my body randomly. Confidently, it strides in like a ghost, who forgot it was trespasser. The spirit reminds of my fear of being forgotten. To walk into a room, say hello to someone, and realize that person won’t even recognize you tomorrow. It’s that feeling of never being good enough, mundane and overly shy. When I die I wonder who would remember me? What would they remember me by? Would they even realize that I’ve even been gone, missing in their lives. Or would I be merely a speck in someone’s expanding perspective?