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I had watched the boy in the corner of the bar for at least a week before I got the courage to make my move. He was sitting alone that night, sipping something dark and amber coloured from a dingy glass. He made no rush to finish it, and I made no rush to approach him. I watched him nurse his drink for about an hour before he sat it down on the table with a clunk, his hands going up to rub his weary face. He couldn’t have been any older than I was, but it was clear to me by the stubble on his chin and the dark circles under his eyes that he felt much older than the number tied to him. He was perfect. There were heavy crescents of oil and sludge under his nails from a long day working at the garage down the street, and his usually untidy hair was slicked back with sweat. His name was Jude. And I knew I had to have him, even if it meant I would have no others. 

When he stood up, leaving a crumpled bill under his empty glass, I waited only a moment before I followed him out of the bar and through the alley behind it. Bars were my favourite place to find them, no matter where I went or what name I hid behind, the boys I found in bars were sweet breathed and full of too much alcohol to even notice me when I pulled out whatever tool I had grown fond of. This one would be different. He had to be different. 

I followed him noiselessly for at least a minute or two, taking care to avoid the trash littered about and any loose stones, but as he went to turn, I cut him off, slipping quickly between his tired, thin body and the empty path ahead of him. In an instant, I had him pinned up to the wall by the wrists. I almost lost it then, the way he smelled of sweat and cheap, stale cologne was too much. My heart was in my throat and there were a million stars dancing across my field of vision, which then, was stuck firmly around his throat. It was strong and lean and  just below his jaw I could see his veins throbbing. Delicate blue hidden beneath dirty skin and they pulsed madly in their confines, begging me to set them free to drip rubies onto the streets. I could do nothing but oblige them, it was only right, I told myself. 

“What the fuck…” He hissed, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw. He pushed hard against my hold but too much bourbon made him lethargic and skewed his senses. He stood more of a chance with that girl he had been eyeing since high school than he did of getting away. 

“Shut up.” I said softly, there wasn’t any tint of malice in my voice, not yet. “You don’t want to get away from me, Jude, I promise.” A quick slip of my hand down the front of his torso changed his tune. “Just stay quiet, sweet boy, and I wont hurt you.”

Sometimes I miss you terribly. I get an awful ache in my heart that screams out to me, “you have known this hurt, you once knew the delicate warmth of his lips, the strength in his hands, you have known this pain and you will know it again. Mourn for me what could have been and what may never be. “

There are times when you are sad, when your head is too heavy, when you cant will your heart to keep beating. There are times that silly words, full of hope for the future and memories of warm summers full of nighttime walks and days at the beach, will help you. They ease the burden of your thoughts and worries, they quell the burning pain in your soul and they give your heart a reason to keep up that quiet rumbling beat. But there are also times, when you are distant and cold, that no words, no matter how fondly spoken or from whose lips they fall, will not ease the raging hurricane inside of you. Do not feel bad for those times, do not let the guilt eat away at what little solace you can find, do not let the world tell you that it means nothing, that you are over-thinking, that your pain and aching is naught but an over exaggerated plea for petty attention. Your thoughts, those weighty feelings of melancholy and loneliness, the burning in your chest and the ache in your head, those things are real, they are tangible and you are not weak for feeling them, they are not false for being stubborn against attempts to rid yourself of them. Take your time, sit in a dark room with sad music, sit with a blanket wrapped around your body and cry until you can no longer find a single, painful thing to purge from your body. Take your time, and the antidote for those poisons will come to you.  

Tonight, for the second time since infancy, my mother abandoned me. My mother, of flesh and blood and bone, has tossed me aside, buried me under the refuse in a ditch and pushed me from her sigh. I have been left, not because of my faults or my mistakes, no, I have been abandoned because I am a living, breathing, thriving mirror that reflects back to her every mistake she has ever made, I show her all the things she gave up, all the opportunities that she burned to the ground. She can’t bear to see me moving about, growing stronger, falling on my back and then crawling back to my feet. So tonight, for the second time, my mother, who I once thought I owed so much to, has abandoned me. 

As a child, full of hope and wants and burning hatred for where I was, I held her up like a Goddess, a being of unlimited knowledge and a wealth of love that she wanted to share only with me. I held out my wanting hands, not trembling or unsure, and grasped at her image, at her words, at her praise. I wanted nothing more in my life than to be near her. 

What I got back was not love. It was possession, lies, false fronts and forged ideals. So I simply imagined that she never received my letters in prison, that the drawings were lost in the mail. I pretended that it was never that she was a coward or that I wasnt good enough, but that it was a simple mistake that just happened to have been made 40 times over. 

But know, I see it perfectly clear, I see her mistakes and her addictions as they eat her alive, I see the regret smeared across her face like war paint. And she is no Goddess, no wondrous being. She is afraid and bitter and has amounted to nothing more than a simpering ghost whose face is made up of her biggest mistakes. 

So I wont run back, my dear mother, who abandoned me so readily, I wont open my eyes when you plead for my forgiveness. 

This is all random dribble from Chapter 4 of my still not yet named novel bit thing. Excuse the general lameness of it, I am nowhere near done with it.

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There are times when you are sad, when your head is too heavy, when you cant will your heart to keep beating. There are times that silly words, full of hope for the future and memories of warm summers full of nighttime walks and days at the beach, will help you. They ease the burden of your thoughts and worries, they quell the burning pain in your soul and they give your heart a reason to keep up that quiet rumbling beat. But there are also times, when you are distant and cold, that no words, no matter how fondly spoken or from whose lips they fall, will not ease the raging hurricane inside of you. Do not feel bad for those times, do not let the guilt eat away at what little solace you can find, do not let the world tell you that it means nothing, that you are over-thinking, that your pain and aching is naught but an over exaggerated plea for petty attention. Your thoughts, those weighty feelings of melancholy and loneliness, the burning in your chest and the ache in your head, those things are real, they are tangible and you are not weak for feeling them, they are not false for being stubborn against attempts to rid yourself of them. Take your time, sit in a dark room with sad music, sit with a blanket wrapped around your body and cry until you can no longer find a single, painful thing to purge from your body. Take your time, and the antidote for those poisons will come to you.