He didn't know where my tears had abruptly come from. I felt that if I told him it was because I felt more alone with him than I did by myself, it would hurt him too much. I want to be completely honest and open with him, but at the expense of his feelings--I could not.
The burnt smell of leaves on fire stinging my nostrils. The air pungent with prematurely rotting jack-o-lanterns whose shriveled smiles mock me as I pass neighbourhood doorsteps. Fresh breath dances in the air. Carbon dioxide upon exhale. Brisker steps to escape the new chill that creeps into your bones and through woolen scarves. Naked trees stretching towards the sky missing the shelter of their fruit. Short days and long nights netoriously bringing bad news. Sacriligious mentality and acorn tip-toeing season. Scuffed cowboy boots wearing season. Pumpkin pie season. I hope it lasts.
When I tell people I never dated in highschool, I prepare myself for that raised-eyebrow look. "Were you some kind of social pariah?" they ask. I can say that I was not and I have no regrets or embarassing feelings about waiting until I graduated before dating. The idea of highschool dating, for me, brings to mind a cesspool of teenage fornication. Sharing bodily fluids between partners that you know have slept with this person and that person and so on...especially in a small town.
Thanks, but I'd rather not fuck my friends' sloppy seconds.
