navales and song return

Recently, Navales (you all remember Jonathan, right?) and I started doing our writing exercises again, kind of like a season two after the first one faded away. I'm posting our second topic because the first one was actually a script, which I failed miserably on while the veteran's work almost made me cry. I'm not very good with scenarios, although I write pretty okay prose. Anyway, we're trying to be a little more strict when it comes to the finish date so I hope this exercise won't fade out like the last time.

9.

Topic: Take a picture of yourself and compare it with an old one. Reflect on the things you were going through then and the things you are going through now.

One thing's for sure, I was at my heaviest in weight (around 145-150) back then and now I'm a mere 115.

8.

Topic: You're about to tell your significant other that you're seeing someone else. The thought process before that, and the conversation if you'd like.

Hannah:

i’m guilty. i’m guilty and i am a hypocrite.

i’ve done what i’ve never thought i was capable of.

what i’ve adamnantly said i’d never do.

where’s my confidence in that now?

gone.

i’ve met someone, i’ve been creeping but..i didn’t mean to.

it was just..i didn’t..i can’t even..

i mean, it was friendly, he was friendly, and we hung out a few times.

i didn’t think anything of it until..until..well, until he kissed me.

and i kissed back.

i don’t know what came over me.

flustered and confused, i rushed out of there, went straight home.

straight home to him.

and he asked what was wrong, and i don’t remember what i told him.

everything after the kiss was just a blur.

and i should’ve told him.

it was wrong of me not to.

and i should’ve stayed away…

but i didn’t.

i went back.

i wanted to know him more.

and it’s wrong…so wrong.

but…but i swear, i didn’t mean to hurt him.

i didn’t mean to do this to him.

i didn’t mean to put him in the shoes i were in with him.

i didn’t.

and i know there’s nothing i can say.

nothing.

i hate that i’m putting him through this.

i hate that i’m causing him this hurt.

and i hate that i’m going see the heartbreak in his eyes as i tell him.

now i know how this guilt feels.

now i know.

but i wish i didn’t.

i’d rather die than feel this.

Jonathan:

Here’s one: Two old fellows sit on a park bench. The tall one says to the short one, “Y’know, I’ve have a lot of regrets in my life, but the biggest one was that I didn’t find myself a wife.” 

“No kidding?” says the short guy. 

“Yup, never married. Didn’t see the point,” says the tall one. 

The short fellow says, “Y’know, I was married once.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, a really beautiful looking broad. She was short and blonde and really nice like. She was the sweetest thing in the world. Never gave me any lip, did what she was told. And every day I’d get home from work, she’d have a beer waiting for me.” 

“That sounds great.” 

“Not only that, but she’d rub my feet for me. And she was a great great cook. Everyday, I’d come home to a feast she had made just for me. Anything I wanted, anytime.” 

“She sounds like a dream.” 

“She was. Whenever I needed tending to, she’d just hop right on it. Like a pogo stick. Anytime, any place. She was wild.” 

“She sounds perfect,” says the tall guy. “What happened with you two?” 

“I divorced her.” 

“Why? Was she two-timing you?” 

“No.” 

“Did she nag or anything?” 

“Not at all.” 

“Then why in the world would you divorce her?” 

“She had really bad breath.” 

Here’s another:  

My best friend wanted a dog for Christmas. It was all he could talk about, for months and months. On and on about this damn dog. About proper training and how he got the custom leash and how he built the doghouse. So Christmas rolls around, his parents get him the stupid dog. Loves it for a two days and then sold the dog, the training books, the custom leash, and the doghouse for the 50 bucks just to get rid of it. 

Do you see the pattern here? I don’t know what it is, I don’t really get why, but it seems that we have this pathological need to fuck things up. 

I’m thinking I fucked things up. Really badly. 

And I’m not really sure why. I don’t know why I do half the things I do.  

She’s gonna cry and I’m going to the reason for that and decent people care about that sort of thing, so I think I’d feel bad. I’m thinking she’s gonna slap me, or throw a drink in my face (for theatrics), and then storm off. But not really storm off, slowly storm off. Enough for me to hold her arm. She wants me to grovel and beg for forgiveness. And I’ll probably do it with the drink in my face and everything, cause decent people care about that sorta thing. I’m gonna tell her that Number 2 means absolutely nothing. Which is true. 

When you go for this sort of thing, one would think you would go for someone that, y’know, is slightly better than the one you’re currently with. That’s why you’re doing it cause the you’ve weighed the options, calculated the odds, and this NEW thing is better for some reason than that OLD thing. But that doesn’t apply here. Number 2 is a pain-in-the-ass jealous idiot. Unlikable, untrusting, un-EVERYTHING. And I fucked her numerous times for some reason. God. 

The problem with us, is this perpetual Grass-is-Greener-I-want-things-I-don’t-have thing. This thing that makes us reach for the cookie jar even if we’re not hungry. This thing fucks everything up. So when she’s crying and making a scene, and while I’m making my best sad face and saying, “but I love you!” with my best ‘my heart is breaking’ intonation, I’m thinking, this is the most I’ll ever want her. I want to hug and kiss and have sex and hold her hand more than I’ve ever wanted to before, only cause in the back of my head I know I’ll never get to again.

tumbl down.

i've been neglecting this for tumblr.

i don't know, i post more free-think stuff here.

but read my latest navales-song exercise there.

no need to follow though--i hate that tumblr is one big popularity contest.

7.

Topic: Write a letter to someone you dislike/don't get along with.

Hannah:

I'm going to use this opportunity to address issues that haven't been sitting well with me. But before I begin, I just want to make it clear that no, I'm not trying to instigate anything. Nor am I trying to embarrass anyone. I just want to get a few things off my chest and I'm going to go about it in the most mature and best-behaved way I can.

Here it goes.

To the two of you:

A, I don't dislike you. At all. I honestly think you're a pretty interesting person and a girl with many talents. It kind of freaks me out that you and I have a number of similarities, given the circumstances I won't even go into, and I'm not denying the fact that it didn't sit well with me the first couple of months. In fact, I ended up resenting it. But then, you know, I got over it and got along with you pretty well. But I was always kind of wary of you because I knew of the shit-talking you engaged in with B regarding me before you even knew who I was. And, you know, I can quote you correctly because you put it on blast on a social media site.

"(To B) all i gotta say is 'imitation is the sincerest form of flattery'"
"(B to A) man ok well idgaf but she super bites you... my opinion before you stated the obvious!"
(To B) yuppp glad i'm not the only one who sees it. its kind of pretty annoying"

"(B to A) 1:53"
"(To B) its 2:02"
"(B to A) so uh what's that supposed to mean...?"
"(To B) whatever you want it to..it's weird how people put meaning into random things huh"

Before you get all weirded out, I think I should tell you that I have an exceptionally good memory.

Honestly, I understand the reasons as to why the badmouthing even began. Maybe it's because of that you think that certain things I say on this same social media site are directed to you. Or that I have some hidden agenda to subtly insult you. And I'm gonna tell you again what I told you before when you sent me that text regarding this a few months back: No, I'm not directing anything at you. Trust me, if I had any ill intent, you would know. Because I'll be coming at you in avery straightforward way.

I think the only time I've actually thought ill of you was when you would post pictures of Skype sessions between the two of you on his wall. And clue in on the little inside jokes you guys had so publicly so that I can see them. But even then I swallowed it up and dismissed it as something girls just do (something I still personally don't really understand since I'm not really big on blatantly putting things on blast and deem it kind of immature. And yes, all that really hurt A LOT at the time). If only things were revealed a little faster, eh?

But what's done is done, and I'm not here to bring up past issues or what not. I guess I'm really taking advantage of this exercise to get shit off my chest. I mean, I don't even expect you to read this. Nor do I even expect to have this conversation with you in real-time. So, you know, an imaginary conversation suffices in making me feel better about all this.

To be completely honest, this is more directed to B.

B. I don't trust you, at all. The conversation I provided above totally just gave me a huge insight as to what kind of person you are and I'm so glad I'm not in your close circuit of friends.

I think what enraged me most about that was the fact that you'd act cool with me whenever we'd see each other (on a rare occasion when he would bring me around his friends, at that time). And the fact that you still act like you're cool with me while you're probably badmouthing me with the likes of his ex-girlfriend (may God, Buddha, Jesus, Allah and Shiva bless that girl) or whoever seems to be disliking me around you. And this doesn't only go for me. You probably badmouth every one of your friends, depending on the most recent disagreement, or the most recent "OMG I can't stand _____"s, etc etc.

Maybe you mean well, maybe I'm being too harsh. Maybe. But have you thought for a second to tell A the truth, or at least knock some sense into him before you ran your judgmental mouth? It probably wasn't your place to do any such thing, but did you have to go resort to shit-talking?

What kind of guy are you, to badmouth a girl with another girl?

I guess I'm more angry about this because ultimately, you didn't know (and still don't know) shit about me to even have participated in shit-talk.

I'm coming off really harsh, yes. Because, in the end, I'm going to be cool with you and probably share a few laughs and such when we party together. You know, since now we share most of the same friends. I'm going to be nice and say hello and all that jazz, because, ultimately, I don't want bad vibes whenever we're in the same house or club or room or lounge or bar or car together, and I generally like you as a person.

And, honestly, you're a pretty fun guy to be around and yes. Maybe you really do mean well.

But booboo, it'll only be scratching the surface with you. 

And YOU. Oh, you.

Although I don't like to give certain people power over me, I hope you know that you single-handedly ruined my first Vegas experience. I don't know what it is you have against me, I don't even know why you dislike me so much. But, I think what you did in Vegas was very disrespectful, not only to him, but to me. I seriously wanted to smash your face into a cab window.

My first impression of you wasn't so good either. Santa Anita racetrack? At the food truck fest? Yeah, you said some unnecessary snide comments that made me wonder how you even manage to keep your friends.

I find you very unpleasant to be around, and it trips me out because I've never really found anyone to be so unpleasant, especially because I really get along with almost everyone. I'm tolerant of a lot of things and I'm amiable and super easy to get along with but you. Oh, you.

I don't even know what to do with you, since I know I'll be seeing you around pretty often. I don't know whether to ignore you like I did on fourth of July (thatwas rude of me but what the hell do you expect?) or to keep being nice to you. I just wish you weren't so adamant in expressing your dislike for me so that it doesn't kill everyone's mood when we're all together.

I mean... I know why I don't really like you much. Like, crystal clear.

But do you know why you don't find me worthy enough to even respect me like a human being? (Seriously, excuse my French but, bitch I ain't your dog.) What the fuck did I ever do to you?

I mean, I'm just saying. Let's be adults and go about things in a mature way.

We left highschool for a reason.

Jonathan:

He skipped out on this one because he found it difficult. Must be nice to get along with everyone, lol.

6.

Write a chorus about loving your significant other enough to compromise yourself.

Hannah:

         Unfortunately, I was unable to do this one. Lyricism is definitely not my area of strength.

Jonathan:

Bb              F               Gm                Cm   

Oh, you’re bitter you’re sweet

Bb        F         Gm               Cm

i get a cut for every kiss that i keep

Bb                     F          Gm            Cm

but please don’t change a thing 

Bb       F               Gm            Cm       

i want everything, all of you and me

5.

Write about the time you lost your virginity.

Hannah:

I remember not having too much thought about it, actually. In retrospect, I think I was a little bit crazy. Maybe it was how it was supposed to happen. Maybe it was the intoxication. Maybe it was just the way my life was going then.

In any case, right now, I don’t think maybes really matter.

But let me tell you from the beginning.

I met him…at a party. A party I wasn’t supposed to go to. I’d lied to my parents about going to SD for the weekend with the music label I interned for. In truth, I was gonna stay at my friends' house and party with them.

Yeah, I know.

Anyway, I had no idea about who he was. Haven’t even heard of him prior to that night. But, he was friends with my friends and that’s why he was there.

I remember when he first walked in the house, I kept wanting to get another look at him. I’m the queen of nonchalance but I think I kind of betrayed my reputation in that hour I tried to act uninterested in anyone but my friends.

Then the intoxication kicked in and somehow I ended up next to him on the couch. I don’t know who initiated it, but we started to kiss and then BAM! A night-long makeout session ensued. I bit and nibbled at him and kissed him more than I have ever kissed anyone in my life. Me and him were practically glued together that night—I don’t think we ever broke away from each other except when we had to use the restroom. I couldn’t keep my hands off him and he drove me crazy with his touch.

He asked for my BBM pin and we exchanged contact information—in my head I highly doubted that we’d even talk after that party. Him and I would just be forgotten strangers among the many names in each other’s phones. But, what the heck. Ain’t no harm in it.

Fast-forward three weeks from then and you have us in my roommate’s room, making out on the bed.

She was out of town for the week and I had just moved in the same house he and I had met in. I was out in the living room at the time but she let me stay in her room while she was gone. Fine by me.

I remember feeling his hardness through his jeans on my thigh as we were making out with him on top of me. I don’t know what made me say it, but I whispered, “You can do it, if you want.”

I say I must have been crazy because 1) I’ve never made out with a stranger before I made out with him at that party. That was something I never even dreamed of doing. 2) I’ve never letanyone touch me in the way he did. Ever. Not even my one ex-boyfriend touched me in such a fashion when we were together. I’ve always made it a point to keep my distance from men. And 3) he wasn’t even my boyfriend—we weren’t really even dating and I totally just gave him permission to deflower me. I’ve always set this personal standard where I wouldn’t have sex with whoever I was with until after a year had passed. And in just a moment I totally said the words that contradicted my own logic.

I mean, it’s not that I cared at all for my virginity. I never regarded it so highly, never thought to abstain until vows were exchanged, and I didn’t abhor premarital sex. Virginity wasn’t all that important to me. I just couldn’t stand the thought of wasting my time on someone unworthy of opening up to. Pun intended.

But there I was. Moving a little too fast and a little too sudden with someone I had no real clue about.

I remember he kept asking me if I was sure. He was a bit hesitant and kept…asking.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

There I went again. Did I mean it? I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking then.

And then it’s all a blur. Pants came off, along with boxers and panties. An awkward moment of silence. The smell of latex and lube. Then pain.

It wasn’t as horrifying as every girl around me made it seem. Although it hurt, it didn’t hurtthat much; I didn’t feel like my insides were being torn. But then again, I have a high tolerance to pain (which explains my biting fetish). It was bearable.

I remember lying there feeling a little awkward at the lack of pleasure I was feeling (so, were all those pornstars faking it or does pleasure come after the first few times you fuck?). I remember feeling so foreign and detached after he was done. Yes, I bled, but the sheets weren’t drenched in blood like every girl around me made me imagine.

After cleaning up, we sat on the bed and went about as if nothing really happened. As if he didn’t just pump himself inside me and as if I didn’t just hand him my v-card.

I didn’t feel any strong attachment to him. I didn’t feel like he had to hand me a ring and give me his last name. I didn’t feel like I fell in love. I didn’t feel any different, I felt the same. Except a little sore between my legs.

But I laughed a lot easier with him after that.

Jonathan:

Kiss.

Remove clothing.

Insertion.

I’m supposed to write about my first time.

Kiss.

Remove clothing.

Insertion.

The point being is to let you in, reveal how I felt and how I feel about it now. But this is what I remember about it.

Kiss.

Remove clothing.

Insertion.

It wasn’t special. It wasn’t horrible.

Kiss.

Remove clothing.

Insertion.

No fireworks or anything. Just jittery nerves.

Kiss.

Saliva.

Remove clothing.

Confusion.

Insertion.

Disappointment.

Kiss.

Remove clothing.

Insertion.

I’m not bitter about it. I don’t regret anything. All I’m saying is that yeah, it meant a lot to me then. But now, all I want to remember about it is

Kiss.

Remove clothing.

Insertion.

4.

Hi, everyone.

My mind's a-clutter, & I often forget the things I need to do.

That's a bad habit I've been trying to get rid of for a while now.

I've been inspired to write, besides this exchange I'm engaging in...
& I think I'm going to indulge myself--expect more literature from me.

Anyway, here's round four of Jonathan and my creative writing swap.

The topic of this one is, as said by Jonathan via text:

"You and I go on a date. We go to a strange little place in LA for dinner.
It's awkward. Really awkward. You kind of dislike me. Then we go to a party.
We warm up a little and flirt while dancing under the little china ball lights.

When we get to your house, we almost kiss but don't. Write about our date."

I have to say, this one's my favorite thus far.

Hannah:

here we are, at mao’s kitchen,
awkwardly sitting across from each other.
our table’s the quietest one,
and the laughter around us
only emphasizes our unfamiliarity,
your nervousness,
my discomfort. 

i think i’ve lost my appetite,
and while i push my food around on the plate
i can’t help but to feel grateful for the fact that
i’m not the one paying. 

your attempts to start a conversation,
they make me wonder
how you even managed to ask me to dinner at all.
maybe i’m to blame, maybe i’m shooting you down,
maybe my tone of voice or terse replies aren’t helping.
in any case, i can’t wait to go home,
and i wish i didn’t agree to go to a party after dinner. 

it would be a shot to your heart
if i asked to be taken home,
wouldn’t it? 

the car ride is no different
than the scene at the restaurant.
the music can’t be enjoyed in this tension,
and you resort to small talk
but it’s too late.
the look on your face
just shows how you feel
like you’re in over your head
and you want this unpleasant moment
to hurry up and pass. 

it’s loud in here,
i don’t know anyone,
and i think this is my third jack and coke.
i took a few shots here and there,
and i thank god that at least i’m drinking now. 

i’m feeling hazy,
this party’s not so bad,
and i see you walking towards me.
you have a smile i haven’t seen before,
and the way you blink tells me
that you’ve had a few, too.
you lean in, real close, and whisper
“dance with me”
in my ear and it sends shivers
all the way
d
 o
  w
  n
m
y
spine. 

and we move, a bit awkwardly,
and i say i’ve had too much to drink,
you laugh and you tell me it’s alright,
then, just like that, our bodies are in sync.
just like that, my guards are down
and i start to think
that my night just got better,
that you’re not so bad after all. 

now, you’re walking me up a block,
to my house, and our hands keep bumping,
and i feel you reach for mine—i don’t mind.
our fingers intertwine,
the laughter eases out,
and conversation isn’t an obstacle any more. 

there’s the door,
we’re at the night’s end,
and you lean in for a kiss,
but i laugh and say
“it’s been fun.”
you give me puppy eyes,
and i give you a smile,
leaning in to whisper
“call me.”
before i wink
and go inside.

Jonathan:

1. The Restaurant 

The thing with silence is that you’re not really sure what it means. Is it an uncomfortable one or a comfortable one? Do comfortable silences even exist? How can two interesting and otherwise very vocal people NOT have something to say and it be comfortable? 

My name is Jonathan and I’ve never liked silence. 

Your eyes do your talking for you. 

“What you majoring in?” I ask.
You say, “Art” but your eyes say, “I’d rather be reading.”
“What’d you think of Super 8?” I ask.
You say, “It was cool” but your eyes say, “God take me now.” 

This is a very uncomfortable silence. 

2. Julian’s Party 

The song playing is “Son of a Preacher Man” by Dusty Springfield. 

I’m talking to some friends while you’re making friends with Jack and Coke. 

“Who’s that you’re with?”
“Her name is Hannah,” I say.
“Dude, she’s cute.”
“She’s horrible,” I say. 

Just then you spill your drink all over the floor. 

The song playing is “Tighten Up” by The Black Keys when everyone turns to you. You smile at me and shrug. You’re too cool for this hipster crap. But you’re the biggest hipster I know. 

When we met I remember not really getting you. You talked a lot but you never really said anything. You talked a lot of art and music, but you couldn’t answer what your favorite book was. You knew names and dates, but not feeling. Or maybe the other way around. I can’t remember. I thought you were a chameleon. 

When we met I remember my girlfriend not liking you. Maybe you talked to me a little too closely, or maybe I looked at you a little too long. I remember telling you she didn’t like you, and I remember your smile when you said, “I don’t give a fuck.” 

You’re smiling now and it feels like we’re talking with our eyes.
Your eyes do your talking for you. 

The song playing is “Blue Moon” by Orange and Lemons when I walk up to you. I pull you in but don’t know what to say. 

“Dance with me.” 

We go to the center. And when you put your arms on my shoulder and I put my hands on the small of your back, I can’t help but think of locks and keys. 

“You in a better mood now kid?”
“I wasn’t in a bad mood.”
“Come now. You were Poland and you made me feel like Germany.”
“Hahaha. Okay, okay. I admit it. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just don’t let it happen again.” 

Right before you think you’re about to kiss someone, there’s that split second of what if I’m reading this all wrong? What if she hates me kind of a thought but it’s okay. You’re half drunk with euphoria of flirting anyway, so who cares? 

Silence as I hold you tighter. You play with the back of my hair. 

This is a very comfortable silence. 

3. The Door 

I lean in for a kiss and you laugh in my face.
“Oh gawd.”
“Hahaha. Stop it’s not like that.”
“Well I dunno. It certainly doesn’t feel like it.”
“Well it’s not.” 

You smile and I try not to explode out of embarrassment. 

“It’s been fun,” you say.
Not it hasn’t. 

“Call me,” you say.
NEVER. I WILL NEVER CALL YOU. 

You smile and put your hand on my cheek. 

“Seriously, call me.”
Well okay. Maybe. 

You wink and leave me alone and on the porch. 

This is just silence. When you’re alone with just silence, you start to miss uncomfortable and comfortable silences. It’s weird isn’t it? I guess we’d all much rather feel something, ANYTHING, than nothing.  

My name is Jonathan and I've never liked silence

Next topic: Write about the first time you lost your virginity/had sex with someone you love. 

3.

"Right back at 'em with another OX anthem."

Exercise Three: Write about a character's unrequited attraction/love.

Jonathan:

i'm getting ready
you're already done
i got you a moon
you wanted a sun 

i'm getting dry
you jump into a pool
i'll cook you good food
you say you're already full 

i'll get us a car
but you'd prefer to walk
i'll bring you keys
but you won't open your lock 

i'm writing our song
but i can't find you or the tune
i can see myself getting tired
i worry i'll feel it soon

POETRY. Damn you Navales, that's kind of my weakness. Maybe I'll give it a shot.

Hannah:

Her heart sank as it paced faster with anxiety and despair and her whole body trembled. Who knew, who would have guessed, that a single picture could lead her to feel so fragile, so forlorn, so close to the brink of tears? 

There it was, that stuffed animal she hoped would be hers, but instead it was another’s, held by arms that were not her own, and would fill in the empty space of the bed where he would be. In someone else’s bed. A bed that was not hers to lie in. And that stuffed animal would never be brought close to her. She would never hug it to sleep, never cry to it, never laugh with it, and it would never carry the essence of him. Never comfort her in his absence. 

From the start, it was not hers to keep. Yet why did hope resonate so strongly in her heart? 

She remembers the day he bought that stuffed animal very well. They were both hanging out, looking for nothing in particular, being silly in the store. It was one of the things they did best, a common trait they shared, one of the reasons why they got along so well as friends. 

Friends. Right now, that was such a heartbreaking word. 

She had eyed that stuffed animal, that perfect elephant, from a distance. Even then she had the urge to touch it, to hold it, but when she noticed him heading the same way as her she grabbed the tiger next to it out of nervousness and slight panic. 

His face had brightened as he held the stuffed elephant and she quietly hoped he remembered that the elephant was her favorite animal. Secretly, she wished he would give it to her when he told her it would be cool to use the stuffed elephant as a part of a new photography series he would start. 

But, that was months ago, and now, the very same stuffed elephant was being held by another girl, someone who was not her, and calling it “her baby”. 

Maybe, just maybe, things would have been different if she grabbed the stuffed elephant first. Why did she even go to the tiger? 

Maybe, just maybe, things would have been different if she had the guts to tell him she loved him. But would he have loved her?

I have a bad habit of mixing real life experiences with fiction.

I publicize private memories and feel safe behind the fact no one can tell.
Besides, I'm a writer. I feed on  experiences, mine or another's, and exploit them.

Respectfully, of course.

Muah.

2.

Write about your one night stand experience, if you've never had one, make one up.

Jonathan:

I remember it being loud. Too many people talking and trying to dance to “Just Dance.” 

I’ve had a bit to drink but I remember everything. I remember my girlfriend calling me for the seventh time and letting it go to voice mail for the seventh time. 

There was smoke and lights. I remember thinking it looked like a painting. Then everything became blurry. Everything melted into everything else. Everything looked like runny watercolors. 

When things came back into focus, there was a girl sitting on my lap. Her hair was gold and her accent was southern. She kissed me and called me sweet pea. She kissed me and put something in my mouth. 

She told me to come home with her. I remember saying yes.  

When I came to, I remember being in a dark room. She was undressing me. I asked her what her name was and she told me while she was kissing me. She kissed me everywhere and I remember being cold from the moisture. Everything became a blur again. I remember only snapshots. Only quick second poloroids of time. Her on top of me. Me on top of her. Her sitting on my face. And me on top of her again.  

In the morning, when everything was no longer a blur and nothing looked like a painting, I remember her gold hair on my chest and her arms across my chest.  

I remember her waking up and her big blue eyes smiling at me. She kissed me and called me sweat pea.  

I remember my phone ringing and me picking it up out of habit. I remember the tone of my girlfriends voice when she asked me where I was. I remember a knot in my stomach. I remember my heart rate elevating.  

“Where the fuck are you?” she yelled. I heard her parents in the backround. 

What I did then, THAT i don’t remember.

Hannah:

I was lonely, confused, and painfully forlorn. Devoid of all the love and affection I once sought for in someone who I thought was my world, my only, my being. He left, he left, it’s been a month since he’s been gone and I was left alone to pick up the pieces of myself. It was so pitiful I couldn’t bare it. I couldn’t stand how cold it was at night and how long it took for my bed to warm up. My full-size mattress felt like a California King. I couldn’t sleep. And the empty places where his things were made the silence pound in my ears. It screamed at me and reminded me of things that used to be. I couldn’t bare it. 

And so, I did it. I did what I didn’t think I was able to do. 

Who is this stranger, in my bed? Who’s clothes are these, strewn so carelessly across my floor? I don’t know. These hands that roughly caress me are not his, these thirsty kisses do not come from him, and these eager advances tell me that this is all too unfamiliar, yet in intoxication my body is now accustomed to its rhythm. 

This stranger is merely a man that reminds me of him, merely a slight hint of the essence of what once was, and with each thrust, with each wave of ecstacy, I forget. I forget. 

And now, lying here in the foreign solace of a man’s arms whose name I do not and will not remember, I think of him and the love I lost and I cry at my attempt to fill my void. 

Heartbroken girls make the best whores.

1.

Started a writing exercise with my friend Jonathan Navales.

We have similar writing styles and I thought it would get interesting.

Here's the first topic: Write about a character's moment before death. First person.

Jonathan:

There’s a ringing in your ears and a light in your eyes. You can’t describe it exactly, cause it’s all too much at the same time. It’s disorienting. It’s the teacups ride at Disneyland. It’s colors and blurs and a knot in your stomach. 

I want to tell you it’s a profound, “oh, this is what it’s all about,” moment. But it’s really not. It’s equal parts you mad, sad, and scared. It’s equal parts of you mad that it happened so quickly, sad that you’ll never get to finish whatever it is you started, and scared that you’ll never get to _____ ever again. Stir with a bit a salt and serve immediately.

Hannah:

it's not a serene feeling. 

no, despite what these authors write and what hollywood portrays, serenity has failed to engulf me like a wave and i am not drowning in it. there is nothing peaceful about this, nothing pleasant. in fact, it's a whole lot of nauseating regret. it's enough to move me to tears but the anger counteracts the sadness, almost as if i took poison and its antidote all at once. i regret the moments i refused to live, the relationships i refused to patch, and the dreams i left behind. i am angry that i am even feeling regret, angry that i've been so stubborn to think that i was right to let go of those people i am thinking of now, and angry at the fact that i am even here. right here. right now. it's unfair. 

it makes me feel even better that i know that at any given moment, my bowels and bladder will empty themselves of whatever's stored in them. 

how attractive.

Jonathan's made me revive my neglected Tumblr account for this story exchange.
I'll be posting both of our writing on this here blog as well (because I heart Blogspot).

We're also taking turns coming up with the topics of each "short", if you can call them that.

I'm excited for the exercise my brain's gonna go through for these.

Especially with this next topic he just texted me.

Let's write away now, shall we?