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He felt better everyday. Not by much and on a day to day basis it wasn’t noticeable unless you looked back days, weeks, months. But he was feeling better. He was still waiting for the other boy. He was waiting for the other boy to make good on the promise he had made. His promise to stay. He was waiting for that.
He was waiting on the promise of everything he remembers from before. He mostly remembers orange though. It was the best possible way to describe the other boy. All his favourite things had been orange. Smell, taste, colour, feeling and that stupid t-shirt that he had. The one that he now wore while he waited. Even the other boy’s personality could be described as orange, if you could use a colour to describe a personality.
The other boy’s favourite smell had been orange. He had said it reminded him of summers spent under the orange trees of his home. The other boy had smelt of oranges himself – warm and sweet and he had wondered how the other boy always smelt like that. Even now, if he smells oranges, it still brings a smile to his face as his eyes drift to past memories.
The other boy had loved the taste of orange. Sweet, sticky and occasionally a little sour. He only ever sucked the juice from them though; he said that the outside of the flesh was too much like paper. The other boy tasted like oranges, simply because he ate so many. It quickly became his favourite taste. Even when he wasn’t eating one.
His favourite colour had been orange. Especially neon orange. But then again he had loved anything bright; orange had just been his favourite out of them all.
He had never described feelings as colours until he had met the other boy who had done it all the time. He had always said that orange was a happy colour. It was a calm and warm happy rather than yellow, which he had said was a ‘bouncy kind of happy’. It had described the other boy perfectly. He had always been happy, in a mellow sort of way and he was always nice to everyone he had met.
The other boy had even had an orange t-shirt. He wore it most of the time. He had been wearing it when the two of them met. They had been in the same school for the last two years, and even though they had seen each other around, they had never actually spoken to each other. They had both gotten detention on the same night, him for falling asleep in class and the other boy for forgetting his assignment again. The teacher had to leave for a few moments in the middle of the detention which had given the two plenty of time to talk. He had moved to sit next to the other boy and as he moved he caught the sent of oranges for the first time.
The other boy had been wearing the t-shirt when he had finally plucked up the courage to ask him out. The other boy had just smiled at him and asked what had taken so long. He had been wearing it when they had their first kiss. It had been his first taste of oranges without having to eat one. He had been addicted to the taste since then. The other boy had seemed to be wearing it during all the milestones of their relationship.
He was still waiting for orange.
I’m feeling better everyday,
I’m only waiting if you stay.
He was waiting on the promise of everything he remembers from before. He mostly remembers orange though. It was the best possible way to describe the other boy. All his favourite things had been orange. Smell, taste, colour, feeling and that stupid t-shirt that he had. The one that he now wore while he waited. Even the other boy’s personality could be described as orange, if you could use a colour to describe a personality.
The other boy’s favourite smell had been orange. He had said it reminded him of summers spent under the orange trees of his home. The other boy had smelt of oranges himself – warm and sweet and he had wondered how the other boy always smelt like that. Even now, if he smells oranges, it still brings a smile to his face as his eyes drift to past memories.
The other boy had loved the taste of orange. Sweet, sticky and occasionally a little sour. He only ever sucked the juice from them though; he said that the outside of the flesh was too much like paper. The other boy tasted like oranges, simply because he ate so many. It quickly became his favourite taste. Even when he wasn’t eating one.
His favourite colour had been orange. Especially neon orange. But then again he had loved anything bright; orange had just been his favourite out of them all.
He had never described feelings as colours until he had met the other boy who had done it all the time. He had always said that orange was a happy colour. It was a calm and warm happy rather than yellow, which he had said was a ‘bouncy kind of happy’. It had described the other boy perfectly. He had always been happy, in a mellow sort of way and he was always nice to everyone he had met.
The other boy had even had an orange t-shirt. He wore it most of the time. He had been wearing it when the two of them met. They had been in the same school for the last two years, and even though they had seen each other around, they had never actually spoken to each other. They had both gotten detention on the same night, him for falling asleep in class and the other boy for forgetting his assignment again. The teacher had to leave for a few moments in the middle of the detention which had given the two plenty of time to talk. He had moved to sit next to the other boy and as he moved he caught the sent of oranges for the first time.
The other boy had been wearing the t-shirt when he had finally plucked up the courage to ask him out. The other boy had just smiled at him and asked what had taken so long. He had been wearing it when they had their first kiss. It had been his first taste of oranges without having to eat one. He had been addicted to the taste since then. The other boy had seemed to be wearing it during all the milestones of their relationship.
He was still waiting for orange.
I’m feeling better everyday,
I’m only waiting if you stay.