Watch you watching me watching you

Dorrit
Dorrit
Jul 24, 2017 · 3 min read
Not mine but my fav, credit given down.

September

Autumn — Donuts on the way back home. Gigs on the weekend. White sneakers with black squiggles. Homework and soda bottles. Nail paint and TV shows. Those pair of clogs you’ve got your eye on. Also that boy.

August

Autumn — You watch him. I watch my shoes. He’s in drama club. We go to a water park. Your lips get blue. Your fingernails too. You laugh while shivering. You have to stay late. You make a mix-tape for the walk back home. I watch TV alone. You call, you got a part. I lost a part.

November

Autumn — Donuts plus smoothies. Us plus a boy. Your next mix-tape reminds me of your absence. We watch different movies now. You keep your hair in place. You discuss drama club drama at lunch now. You change your opinion.

December

Winter — No donuts for you. No gigs for you. You take off your glasses. You’re not mine anymore. It’s smoothies. It’s movies- with that boy. You sneak me out at night. I feel strange. Your face looks almost different- in the smoke.

January

Winter — We pour ourselves over the book on the table. We’re counting days — exams to write. Sometimes, you slip out. You return- with stories of lands strange and far. It’s in the texts you giggle over. I don’t ask for an invite.

February

Winter — I wear sweaters. You wear vodka and smoke- and that boy. I stay beside you while you retch. You go back at night. You throw out your plaid shirt- it’s a black leather jacket now. You slip behind alleyways. I’m left alone in the middle of the night.

March

Spring — You stay late. My mix-tape is old. Your boy- buys me a donut the next day. You didn’t make him a mix-tape. What’s up with that? You’ve got another mix-tape in the making- for you. We make plans for a movie- you skip. We talk about you- your absence.

April

Spring — We walk back home, with your silence. You don’t take a donut, you don’t take a smoothie. Your tiny wrist calls out for words and your veins supply the music. Your boy stops walking with us. You don’t stay back for drama club anymore.

May

Spring — You’re full of music and alcohol and pain. Your cuts give out liquid you seem to be made of. You skip lunch. Your boy doesn’t feel like he’s yours anymore. You craft stories of night-time. We were never invited.

June

Summer — The pool. You float. We watch.

x-x-x

  • i wrote this story for a contest in under 30 minutes. And i won. I really don’t know how. But nevertheless, it has a soft spot in my heart. I had stopped writing fiction and honestly, this isn’t even fiction. This is fantasy + snippets from my life and what I’ve absorbed through my years. It could use tons and tons of improvement probably. But I like it because of the portrayal of change in it. I think that was the topic but i’m not sure. Change is something that fascinates me endlessly. I also love the style. I wasn’t really feeling particularly write-y while writing this, but due to the deadline, I had to make do. And news!, i like it. Writing in short bursts is now one of my favorite things. I love the starkness- how it makes you make up the details based on what’s in your mind. I would like feedback, if you have any.
  • Also I had named this ‘Destruction’ way back then. Imagine being that wrong. Also, she doesn’t die in the end. But temme what you thought!!