Hey

Hey all, 

 So I just started this blog to get some feedback on my own writing, and get some of my stuff out there. Let me know what you think. I'll be posting stories, poems, and other kinds of things I've written. I look forward to hearing from you.

Forever Agapei,

Alex

I Can't Stand Still

There's gotta be something in my veins, blood that settles like cement. And there's something in my hair too, it makes my hands shift strands from side to side. There's that very same something running through my limbs, making me tap my fingers on countertops. Now. You feel it too? I can't stand still.

And in my reflection, I am lying. I spit fabrications, as if I could capture me in one second. It's difficult for me to listen to me. But I'm everywhere I go. I find me in the bathroom, on shiny cars, and pools of water. Nobody is a picture. We're movies. We drip, we ebb, we flow. You see it too? We don't stand still.

I think I once read a book. Or was it a movie? A dream? Where time became a dimension. Suddenly my eyes saw who you were, who you are, who you'll be all at once. Where'd you go? I can only see in pictures now. So when you look at me, don't look at me in that second, look at me in forever. You feel it too? We're never standing still. 

Piece

Dawn. A thin ray of sunlight tumbles from the gap between the silk curtains onto resting eyes. A hand covers a face, as a body contorts itself, awaking its sleeping muscles. A man rolls onto his side, escaping the light. Now he is staring at pale skin, a bare back. There is hardly a blemish on the smooth white body in front of him, its rhythmical breathing lifts the white sheet from its hips. 

The man's back straightens as he sits up, but his eyes still trace the soft features of the sleeping woman beside him. Hair covers the entire neck, black strands in contrast with the pure, white pillow. Looking past the figure, the man notices two wine glasses. A red tint still rests near the bottom of both, and lying near the base of one of the glasses is a bright red rose. Sadly, the rose would never give off such a color as it had exuded just hours before: its peak had already passed during the night, and now it was slowly deteriorating. Those vibrant red pedals would soon turn a deathly brown.

By now, the man's brain is fully awake and won't be able to rest for some time. His legs quietly slide off the bed. His feet make contact with the heavy fabric of the bedroom and then the wood of the living room. And then he stops, eyes glimpsing a figure to the right. His neck turns, viewing himself in a full-length mirror. His hands fall to the sides of his uncovered form. His eyes stare back at him, sizing himself up from head to toe. He can't bear it anymore. He heads to the kitchen, and the soles of his feet are immediately punished by the freezing tiles.

A small clicking sound emits from the light switch on the wall as the man puts it into the 'on' position. Now his back stands straight up in front of a bright white countertop. 

A tear drops onto the tiles. Watery eyes are fixed on a picture. The man sees his own body, embracing that of a thin woman with blond hair. 

If the sleeping figure were to awake a minute later, it would seem to her that the house was identical to the one last night. She would never notice the disappearance of one picture.