kohl taylor . seven . cbd1

kohl taylor

His ocean eyes have planted him in the middle of the sea for so long that he has forgotten what it’s like to lay on the shore and just breathe. Day by day, drowning in his own naiveté, Kohl Taylor’s mind takes form in the single buoy that has guided him through the past eighteen years. The buoy is his father.

He only saw his father a few days at a time at best, but as a boy Kohl saw other children playing catch with their dads or trophying their first chop at a tree as their father lugged it back home. Kohl wanted that, perhaps more than he wanted anything else in the world. Whenever he got the chance, he’d latch onto his father like glue, one pair of ocean blue eyes taking the other down into the depths.

Depths like these were treacherous, and despite others’ warnings, Kohl swam through it all and absorbed tips from his father like a sponge. His mother told him that a father like this wasn’t the best influence, and that Kohl Andrew Taylor should know better, but he truly didn’t care. His father’s words and teachings were liberating, particularly in the lane of romantics. Kohl learned that love is earned by being bold and having a sense of charisma too great to deny. He was told that sex is the ultimate gift of the upper beings, and so Kohl shouldn’t let a gift like that go to waste.

Not for a second did Kohl Taylor believe that his father was somehow grooming his son to be a second version of himself, no. Even when he disappeared from his life permanently at age seventeen, Kohl trusted that his father did what he did and said what he said because he wanted his son to be happy.

And happy, bold, and charming, Kohl was.