in this strange sea [Kiara]

it’s a masterful melody
when she calls out my name to me
as the world spins around her she laughs rolls her eyes
and I think that I’m falling
but it’s no surprise

When I close my eyes, I dream of Rose.

The world is a blur, but her image stands out sharply against the indistinct background. Some distant part of my partially-conscious mind recognizes the distorted swirl of red and brown as a forest, but the rest of my mind doesn’t care, as long as I can see her, the girl with the long brown hair and the blue eyes and the body that should get crushed to pieces when I hold her as tightly as I do—but doesn’t. We’re sitting in a tree, I realize--somehow I know it’s the one we carved our names into--and I feel wonderful. I've never used drugs before, but I think this is how it must feel to be high--happy and light, like you're floating on a cloud.

My eyes scan her figure, drinking in every detail, latching on and not letting go. Staring used to feel strange and rude, like not covering your mouth when you cough, or interrupting when someone else is talking. Now, however, it’s become a habit that I can’t get rid of. And I know that if I look away, she’ll disappear, and I’ll never see her again. That would be bad, because I can’t live without her.

She looks just like she used to, I reflect, smiling at her.

My smile quickly disappears. That thought is from somewhere else, a heavier and scarier part of my mind that seems to threaten to pull me out of the tree and away from Rose. But my leaden fingers cling to my branch, holding on for dear life. She doesn’t look like she used to—she’s always looked this way, happy and healthy and beautiful. This is how she is always going to look, because she’s Rose and this is how Rose is supposed to be.

No, Trey, says the bad thought place again. I frown even more as I try to push the thought away, but it’s harder this time. Something’s nagging at the back of my head, as if I’ve forgotten something important, but I don’t want to remember—it feels like if I try to think, Rose will disappear. But I can’t stop the images from creeping into my consciousness, projecting a fast-motion slideshow on the backs of my eyelids.

The pond. Shirt off, Skin. Water. Fade. Lonely. Dark. Flushing. Not sleeping, where is she where is she where is she? Morning. Woods, talking, kiss, statue. Swallow. Fist-tree-tears, blood. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Towards the end, I see myself carrying Rose into my bed, kind of like Prince Charming does in the fairy tales. I know it's because she is always too tired at night now to walk in by herself. I do it very carefully, always wary of noise; I don’t want my parents to wake up and see that she’s sleeping with me. My dad would freak if he knew that, or if he knew that she was—

The images end, and I’m back in the tree with Rose, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion because she’s leaning in slowly with her eyes closed, ready to kiss me. Why would she want to do that, after all that I’ve done to her? After that day at the pond in the woods, when I screwed up and got her—

The moment our lips touch, my eyes flutter open in greeting to Rose—only this time, it’s really her. A single glimpse of her smile is enough to wash away every last little thought of my dream. It’s amazing how much doubt she can erase from my mind with just one look, and in my drowsy state I find myself wondering whether she has this sort of power over anyone else.

”You’re up early,” I observe with a sleepy smile, craning my head off the pillow to kiss her again.

it’s frightening to be swimming in this strange sea
but I’d rather be here than on land
’cause she’s all that I see
and she’s all that I need
and I’m out of my league once again

thinking, doing, saying, hearing, other

{ooc- this may or may not make sense bc I wrote it at midnight, but I wanted to get at least a post in before you left for mexico}