I didn't know you.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
LET'S NOT.

Submitted: November 03, 2014

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Submitted: November 03, 2014

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The first time I saw you, I was fourteen and you were stood outside McDonald's in the rain with your arms outstretched, like a cross. I'd stared at you, watching the droplets fall upon your upturned face, dazzled by how they rolled off of your pale arms. I'd worried that you might catch a cold because you were wearing a fucking floral shirt, hanging off one shoulder, and ridiculous ripped denim shorts. I remember my friends laughing at you, calling you a freak, saying your dress sense was stupid and \"Didn't you know that floral shirts were totally gay?\" I'd laughed and agreed but secretly thought you were beautiful.

The second time I saw you, it wasn't for another month or so and you were sat in the back alley behind the cinema, your back was pressed against the rigid stone. You were bobbing your head and tapping your thigh along to the music through your headphones, an empty bottle of wine lay beside you and a half empty one clutched in your hand. I remember I was walking back from a failed date when I saw you and I'd stopped for a second, wondering if maybe I should get you home. It was getting late and I didn't want you getting hurt. I didn't even know you and the thought of you getting beaten scared the shit out of me. I'd decided against it though and hurried away before you could open your eyes and catch me staring.

The third time I saw you was a week later at a party. You were dancing with my best friend, more grinding on her than dancing really. I remember being jealous until you let go and stumbled away. Jenna had stood in the middle of the room, staring after you before getting caught up by another boy. I'd wandered around the house, definitely not looking for you, before I found you in the kitchen, curled up in the tiny gap between the fridge and the freezer. You looked so broken that I was terrified if I touched you then you would shatter into a million pieces. I remember thinking that I've never been good at puzzles, so if I did try to put you back together again, you'd probably and up all wonky. I'd snorted quietly and you'd snapped your head up, knocking over the champagne bottle between your legs as you struggled to get up. I'd apologised and all but ran out of the room.

The fourth time I saw you wasn't for another year, I'd finished my exams and was celebrating with some friends downtown when you came stumbling out of an alleyway. I remember instantly being at your side even though my girls had grumbled telling me to leave you and that you were obviously a drunk and to \"Stay away char, he might jump you.\" You had shook your head violently at that, slurring out the words \"No, never, wouldn't ever do that,\" before you passed out in my arms. I remember calling a taxi and taking you home, lying you on my bed and falling asleep in the chair beside my window. When I woke up a few hours later, you were gone.

The fifth time I saw you was the first time we kissed. I don't really remember anything from that night but I can definitely remember the feel of your lips upon mine, the taste of champagne and wine and vodka and whiskey on your tongue, the weight of you between my thighs, the feel of your skin on my hands. I fell asleep afterwards, wrapped up in your arms and your warm breath against the back of my neck. I woke up to my alarm in the morning telling me I had class in half an hour and would I please get the fuck up and my bed was cold without you in it. I'd spent an hour in the shower trying to scrub your touch off my skin but even after, when I was sat on the edge of my bed in a fluffy blue towel and crappy daytime tv on in the background and my mum shouting through my door telling me that I wasn't ever going to get into a good uni if I never went to class and I could still feel you.

After a while, I stopped counting how many times I saw you and started wondering what this empty feeling in my gut was and why it was only able to be filled when I saw you. I figured it out when I told you I loved you and your eyes stopped shining and your head dropped and you picked at the edge of the same floral shirt I saw you wearing that time outside McDonald's. We were silent for god knows how long and when you finally spoke you'd said, \"you wouldn't if you knew me.\" But I did know you, didn't I? Or at least I thought I did.

The last time I saw you, it was your funeral. God, the constellations upon your cheeks were almost as pale as your skin, faded as though they never existed. Your red lips didn't have their natural brightness and you looked so fucking small. I didn't stay for the whole ceremony, I'd left halfway through and ran and ran and ran and ran until my heart threatened to explode and my lungs begged me to stop for a second and my eyes were streaming and my legs were burning. I realised, afterwards, that I had stopped outside your favourite bar and I couldn't stop myself from going in and drinking and drinking and drinking. I remember thinking that if maybe I drank enough then I would be able to taste you, but all I ended up getting was the taste of a random mans tongue. The morning after, as I crept out of the man's flat, I tried to stop you from sneaking into my thoughts but somehow the only thing I was thinking, as I climbed into a taxi and reeled off my address was that you were right. I didn't know you and maybe, nobody ever really did.


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