He's got his head stuck in the clouds.
Only he could make the void so beautiful.
I pressed my head against his shoulder, hand on his chest. His breath was steady, so I followed. He knew where he was, where he stayed, where we left. So distant from the world, far away from those on the ground. He cherished his place in the heavens, forgetting the forsaken.
I asked him to take my hand. He refused to come down. But I never asked him to leave, only to let me follow. He still refused.
That boy's got his head in the clouds. No one was ever going to bring him down.
That boy's got his head in the clouds. No one was ever going to bring him down.
He keeps a cigarette tucked between his lips, strikes a match and finally lights up. He absorbs himself in the poison. Inhales toxins, exhales burden. I watch him blow smoke, I see his shoulders relax, and I almost catch him smile. He only smirks, never smiles.
"I shouldn't have done that," he chuckles to himself. I agree. He still finishes the whole pack.
His thoughts are clouded by sour memories he thinks he's accepted and mistaken metaphors we can't quite comprehend. 'I'm an old soul,' he likes to say. I nod along. He's too young to know and I'm too young to care.
I know enough my place in his world is brief. I care enough to make it last.
I know enough my place in his world is brief. I care enough to make it last.
"You are so young, so beautiful, and you've got your own world waiting for you."
He tells me things I already know. Whispers wisdom in the dark under wrinkled sheets. There is a kindness in his voice, slow drawls so tender. Almost as if he makes sense. I say nothing. Instead, I close my eyes and listen to his sermon.
"I have nothing," he continues, "I like being alone, and I'm fine with that..." His speech wanders. He has so much to say yet no one listens. I try, but in his arms, words suffuse and fade. I drift off to sleep where I feel most free. He floats away, back to his sanctuary in the clouds.
When I wake up, he is gone.
Wafts of his cologne still fog the air. It leaves me dazed. I cling to the bedsheets, I pretend he's here and perhaps, I think, he'll reappear. Hours pass before I stand. In my misty state, I pull the curtains back. I smile.
Wafts of his cologne still fog the air. It leaves me dazed. I cling to the bedsheets, I pretend he's here and perhaps, I think, he'll reappear. Hours pass before I stand. In my misty state, I pull the curtains back. I smile.
There is a clear blue sky; sun shining and no clouds in sight.
end.
glasses : Ebay | shawl : ShawlByVSnow
blouse : Missguided | shirt : Primark | pants : CoveredbyAnnisa
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Photos by
Time Optic Productions
Time Optic Productions
This is a work of fiction.
Obviously.
Head in His Clouds is in collaboration with Time Optic Productions. It was absolutely wonderful to work with them, having such a fun time filming this whole piece. In conjunction with this post, they made video here. Go check it out!
Obviously.
Head in His Clouds is in collaboration with Time Optic Productions. It was absolutely wonderful to work with them, having such a fun time filming this whole piece. In conjunction with this post, they made video here. Go check it out!
So, have you met a boy in the clouds?
