Words in Books I'll Never Write 04

Friday, 24 January 2020

I tend to write a lot about people 
who will never read what I wrote.

Unless they see these blog posts, which I'm hoping they don't. 

Going through old notebooks from a few years ago, I found a few snippets of prose and poetry. They're sketched and inked onto old papers but I like to think they still have some sentimental value. They remind me of better times when I was a little bit happier during the holidays. 

Here are some Words in Books I'll Never Write.

0 1. goodnight 

His head on my chest,
and my fingers in his hair.

Eyes closed,
and still fully clothed.

We’re gently rocked to sleep
by the rhythm of our heartbeats.
- 29th November 2017, 00:20AM

0 2. christmas eve

Neither of us were particularly good dancers, but he put jazz on the speakers and took my hand. A foot in front of the other, I followed in pursuit. Our bodies swayed across the room, taking wild twirls in turn. He dipped down low and spun and pulled me back in.

We both laughed, dizzy from nightcaps. We danced, even after the song ended. Moving to a beat we played differently in our heads. How madly in love we looked that Christmas Eve.

He was mad, and I was in love.

22nd December 2017, 00:13AM

0 3. new years 

You walk too fast for me, I run faster. I call out to you and you stop by a street light. You look at me behind your shoulder, your lips suppress a smile.

"Hurry up, it's freezing," you gesture to the road. Huddled in a coat much too big, and that blue scarf I liked so much. You look happy, content with life as it is right then and there. 

"Forgive my little legs." We both chuckle as I catch up to you, fireworks sprung out. 

I looked up at the sky, illuminated with lights crackling up in the air. Loud cheers from the pub two minutes away, singing and laughing. I look back at you as if this new year would be alright. You take my hand, covered in a mitten, and kiss it gently.

"Happy 2018."

- 4th January 2018, 5:21PM

I would like to preface this post by saying all of this writing is purely fictional. Maybe. Perhaps inspired by true events but written by someone who, at the time of writing, had been wearing rose-tinted glasses.

Would you like to see more of these posts?

with love,
Bash Harry