"Stymied love"
That's all that escaped my swollen lips before I turned my back to him. Stymied love? They've never even said that in the movies. God, I can still taste the burn of his unfinished cigarette in my mouth. Breathe. I cringe that I was vain enough to kiss him goodbye.
And his eyes. His eyes.
I looked up into them so I could etch in my memory scrap-book the exact measure of blue and steel they held.
Instead I can think of nothing but the moisture of my betrayal threatening to seep through his dark lashes.
And the way the crowd casually gathered around.
To watch the white boy cry.
But he'll call me tonight. Once he's looked up the dictionary. And because phermones are so much stronger than teenage pride.
*Sigh* I might as well start getting used to the hot weather.
Doisneau, absolument parfait
Le Baiser de l'Hotel de Ville, Paris, 1950
About Me
- Jezebelle
- I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell! They'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog. To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
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