Status: something short to keep creative

Poison Oak


"I don't have parents," she says, curling her lips into a circle and blowing smoke out through the cracked window. Her fingers are restless, tapping on her scabbed kneecaps and trailing up my arm. My skin tingles wherever she touches and before I know it she traces my heart, making soft, delicate strokes and causing my blood to beat faster within my chest. Goosebumps rise up on the skin of my forearms and I hope that she doesn't notice how much her touch means to me. The answer t0 my question seems more like a question than an answer. I swallow hard, wondering what to say, how to speak, how to go about this with her.

"That's silly," I say, already regretting it because nothing this beautiful girl could ever say is silly. Her words are everything to me; regret is pulsing through my veins. "Everyone comes from someone."

Her eyes flick over towards my face and meet mine. Something pools within them, some unknown emotion that I wish I could pull away from her heart, something in between us, clouding up this perfect world I was imagining existed just for her and I.

"Not me."