The Seventh Day was just for you
by Pontius Eblanche
You know everytime I think about us, it reminds me of a movie. It is like oh my gosh I need to watch that movie again, whats that feeling called? Sometimes i get mad at myself for not thinking about you enough. like damn how could i forget about you for a measly 2 hours. Everything you brought to the table, you were so different. Your beauty was a thing of nature, there was nothing artificial about it, you were perfectly sculpted. The seventh day was all for you. I just continuously reform to the idea that I had to mess something up, you had double dimples, the grail, the prized features, and somehow someway i let u leave. i would’ve rather taken our lives then let u leave again. but then again, i would’ve be taking an angel from god away from him. I guess I would rather be by myself than someone not as good as you. I guess I am a burden, I am quick to leave, you almost have to walk around on a half frozen lake. you might drown, we might drown, it is so much easier to just leave then have to deal with me. I could have just let u be, never spoken to you, never talked to you. i made it such a problem, i couldve just let u be and not try to force you to be with me. im sorry, i will leave u alone
Your Heaven-Like Features
The hair is the glory of a woman
Your hair , the standard for anyone with curly hair. How perfect it was, glossy black, and you often dyed it a perfect burgundy red. How it shined during the summer, it rayed off the European sunbeams. I hate when you straighten it, it strips the beauty off your hair, it’s quite disgusting. I wish you did not feel the need to change the way it looked, I am ok with the different styles and stuff but I hate the constant change of textures and different colors. I like the red and black, but I hate the tinsel.
The eyes never lie chico
You always had such dark eyes, even in the summer. There was no reflection, no shine. It was complete darkness, absent of any light. I looked at you a million times, and still to this day could not tell you what color your eyes were. But they were still so attractive, alluring even. You eyes were always so present, almost like a obvious placed distraction. Like that spinning white and black thing that puts you into a trance, i am blanking on the word. I’m afraid when I am with you, I used to feel at home, now I feel paranoid. Now your eyes make me feel paranoid.
Your Hands
Your Miniature Hands
Get Tony Montana’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
You always cared about your nails, they were always done. You often say in excited tone, oh my god did I show you my nails. I probably go back into my memory and think about that more then anything. I liked it best when you painted them pink, it matched your brown skin tone. we were never the biggest texters but i still have that one picture of your hands saved. You did your nails so perfectly, effortlessly even. An artist you were, an artist in every aspect. You used your hands to draw so well, it was like you talents were endless. Smart, hot and could draw, you couldn’t cook to save your own damn life though. i mean u really suck at cooking and baking, its quite shocking.
Your Legs
i wish i was born again as your legs
They were always so fitting, they made so much sense. You walked with such conviction, such pride. I hated letting you go but I loved watching you leave.
Conclusion
Its not that I don’t want you back, but there needs to be a change between us, I seriously cannot do this anymore. I love you too much for us to be only friends, I need to be your love, I need to be everything you are. If I can’t do that, then there will be no us. I will die on this hill.
