fragile and yet, infallible. i am max, and i am stronger than you know, hit harder than you expect, and am waiting ever so patiently; for something i am still unsure of. this is my story. prepare yourself, perhaps this was the plan all along.
I see them in the trees. Behind the house, in the windows, underneath the carport. I see the oceans in their eyes and I can feel the cold wind in their heavy breathing. I believe that they are everything I know. Everything else just disappears. Because when I feel them, I know you are here. Even though you are a hundred thousand miles from where I am.
These are my wolves; cold, hungry, alive and aching.
I love the winter air and an autumn sky. I miss the fuck out of a place that barely remembers my face. I have no home; in fact, I belong nowhere in this hellhole of a planet. I like to fuck, dance in my underwear, sing all the sad songs, and throw pickles off my cheeseburgers. I wish I could explain how fragile I am behind this stormy surface. I ache daily. My life consists of working at a small-town bookshop, reading all the pretty words that have made others before me, famous. Meanwhile, all I really want is to write my own pretty words, and perhaps elope instead of having this masterpiece of a
wedding - so I’ll never have to choose napkin colours, or flower arrangements, or bridesmaids dresses because I wouldn’t have any bridesmaids. I used to think I would. I had it all decided. Until we went and fucked it all up because you’re still the same to me but I’m ‘different’ to you. I don’t understand. But I love literature and I’m intelligent beyond recognition, though I have a temper and often you can tell. I hate CAPITAL LETTERS and I hate the way I feel. I used to trust the wolves with my life, now I have no fucking clue what I’m even on about. They were just, always there. You ask me who I am? I used to tell you I am the wolves. But now? I’m just a name. Just, Max.
When I was thirteen, I honestly believed the world was made of good intentions. But by the time my sixteenth birthday settled nicely into the late-August sunset, I understood just how poor my judgement had been. After staggering half-blind through dates with boys whose hands got too close, I began to wonder how I’d ever thought people could actually be humane. And then I remember you. You found me lost and shattered and fragile as fuck and yet still, somehow, you managed to fall in love with my sad soul. Fuck, if I knew how to love, I would love you eternally.
Just don’t leave. Your job was always to stay, I believe.
Everyone else had to leave.
His name was Ace. Well, actually, it was Avian, but we preferred Ace. Not to sound cliche’ here, but he was gorgeous. Every bone was angled just right, every strand of hair windswept to perfection. He held the kind of proud posture people often wished to have themselves, and yet their was an air of tragedy around him. I swear, I had never seen eyes as brown as his. Ace, you forever completed me.
‘Max, how about lunch today?’ his voice soft in the light of the morning sun.
'Zaffa’s will be open at noon. They have those muffins you like, with the vanilla icing.’
Ace drew in breath and exhaled it sharply. I murmur from beneath the bedsheets,
'And a coke? Vanilla coke.’
I feel his hands on my hips as he reaches back across the bed from where he sits at my feet, gently urging me awake. I watch him with one eye above the blanket, and he smiles.
'Your eyes look like the ocean. My ocean-eyes.’ This time, I feel him smile as he pulls himself on top of me, pressing his warm lips onto mine, little but the blanket and his thin boxers between us.
'Max, I’ll buy you all the vanilla cokes in the universe, if you’ll get out of bed and go to lunch with me today.’
'I like you,’ I whisper in his ear.
Kissing my forehead, he leaves the room to shower and I am left with my sighing heart and my cold, cold, feet.