meadows

meadows

First a stumble and a giggle off the front porch where we had drunk our final drink, smoked our last cigarette, drowned ourselves in elixirs, and remembered our final thoughts. That place had lost its purity somewhere in between the eleven cigarette butts lying helplessly alone, and the two condoms that were all used up. I’ll clean it all up before morning.

I told her that I was alone before she was a part of my life and I loved her more than I could ever love anyone else. And this was true! She is in every way the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes upon. Her eyes are comprised of a beautiful shade of ocean blue. Her complexion has an attractive tan colour that didn’t, in any way, aesthetically appease my burnt out, fair tone. Her hair is always gorgeous, anyway she has it. Her body is filled out in such a perfect way that she could be with anyone she wishes to be with (unlike me). But what brings tears to my eyes is the fact that I, and only I, should be the tranked out, helpless, drug-crazed victim wandering God-knows where at two in the morning to satisfy my cheap humanistic pleasures...not her. It feels like, even though she is older than I, I have somehow taken the purity and innocence out of her life. I can see it even more so now.

Her eyes have become glassed over, bloodshot, screaming for attention from the alcohol. Her skin is flushed and clammy from the pills. And her hair is, in every form of the definition, ****ed up. Her beautiful personality is none, only what the pills provide for her. Her womanly strut has become a skanky stumble. Her beautiful lips can now only provide a drunk, drooly smile and vain kisses that mean nothing except she’s horny. At two in the morning she asks why I’m crying. I tell her we should go to the meadow. She agrees. We take each other’s hand--not because it’s romantic, but because we would fall ****-face on the ground without someone to lean on--and make our way to the meadow behind my house.

Before the drugs it used to be a place for our passion and true desire for each other’s company. We used to take my Audubon Field Guide To the Night Sky to the field every night and see who could find the most constellations. I used to make them up when she was winning; I think she did too. I kissed her for the first time out here. It was the night we slept out with just us and a sleeping bag under a Summer’s full moon. I would never believe it if someone told me that my motives for our love would change in less than a year. I had everything I ever wanted with her being in my life. It’s nearly Spring now, and the times are still changing.

We fall down on the grass and I, again, begin to cry. She wipes my tears and puts her arms around me and lays her head on my shoulder and tells me she loves me so much. Still panting from the conversation through tears, I express to her my nostalgia. I tell her that I want our relationship to be like it was a year ago. I tell her I want to be able to kiss her again and remember the feeling. I tell her I want to look into her beautiful blue eyes and not see a product of the drugs we’ve taken.

She, too, with tears in her eyes asks if our relationship will fade away if we change. Without giving her an answer I apologize for bringing my lifestyle upon her and tell her I’ll love her even if the season never changes again.

(sorry about the language)

A sad tragic story told with straight forward simple language. The language was OK to me.

Hi,

I sincerely appreciate the comment. You say the language was okay to you; Does that mean the English language, or the profanity?

If it is the English language, I suppose you are right, it is simple, and straight forward. Is this bad?

Thanks for your help.

If you are apologizing for swear words you shouldn't. "Bad" words are fine in literature as long as they are not forced.

I think this is a nice passage, but I would watch out for pronoun pounding. I'm not sure if you're doing it on purpose but there were too many sentences that started with them. Vary.