Archives for the month of: February, 2013

Cigarettes and drunken nights aren’t exactly childhood dreams,
But maybe a glass slipper fairytale isn’t what we need.
Run your fingers through your hair telling me it can’t be you,
But maybe children of the gutter need a love story too.


The girl with the red curls is here. She sits cross-legged on the floor drumming her fingernails on her beer bottle. It’s empty but she doesn’t get up to get another. The boy next to her is engaging her in polite conversation, she nods and smiles every now and then but she keeps stealing glances at the sofa on her left. I notice because that’s where I’m looking too.
He wears an expression of nonchalance and only those who know him well would recognise this as well-disguised shyness. His eyes scan the room every now and then but never seem to focus fully. A girl with long brown hair is on his lap and his arm is wrapped noncommittally around her waist, I’ve heard him talk about this girl but never seen her in person before. I can instantly understand why he would be drawn to her; every now and then she throws back her head and laughs at some idle joke he makes, her dark hair cascading down her back and every male eye in the room is on her. Occasionally she runs her hands possessively through his hair and at one point she kisses him hard on the mouth, his eyes widen in surprise and his cheeks flush slightly but he doesn’t resist, and it’s at this point I leave the room, to go count the bathroom tiles or something less excruciating.
Upon returning I notice the girl with the brown hair has gone. He sits alone, head on his shoulder, his eyes downcast, chewing on his bottom lip and the space next to him is empty. I go to make my way over, knowing that all I need is to see that smile, just one smile and then that’ll hold me for the rest of the night, girls with waterfalls of dark hair be damned, and just as I’m about to take a step I feel a hand on my arm.
It’s her. The girl with the red curls. Her wide eyes lock with ┬ámine and we stand in limbo, holding eachother’s gaze. She doesn’t say a word, but those two green pools seem to be screaming at me, almost pleading, and I know exactly what she’s trying to say: ‘please let me have this’.
And it’s like looking into a mirror.
Red curls and fuller lips aside I’m looking at myself. She has the same look on her face as I’ve seen before on mine a million times, it’s the look that’s worn out but alive somehow, so alive, it’s the look of someone who is desperately and hopelessly in love and it’s the look that’s only instigated by that boy over there on the sofa.
Her grip loosens slightly but her eyes are still silently begging, there’s a ferocity there, a fire I can sense and my eyes flicker from her to him and he’s looking this way and that’s when I see it. His eyes are alight. This is her. I stare back into her eyes and realise that I’m kidding myself if I think I have any chance here, and I’m desperate to run and not let her get to me, I’m desperate for that smile, but I can’t deny him this. So I look away from her to show that I concede.
In an instant she’s at his side, gazing adoringly at him just the way I do, with his arm about her shoulder but to him it’s only in friendship for now, he does that with me too, but this is different somehow, this is his soulmate, he just doesn’t realise it yet, but he will. Two people that shine so brightly belong together, and it’s obvious that they’re the only light in the room now. I finally get my smile as it splits across his face like the sun rising on the sea for the girl with the red curls.