Status: One-shot, but have an idea for it as a story
Brightside
Thoughts
It was a particular day, rising from winter’s bleak malady to the crisp current which marked the awakening of spring. It was a day where the coffee had never tasted so sweet or so bland; a day of indecision. It was a day when the exchanging of glances had caused eyes to forfeit, leaving vacant stares lingering in the spaces between. It was a day, an unspectacular, unextraordinary, particular day; a day when, in his mind, he had surpassed the ideals of friendship, laying bare in a state of study.
His secret was not an attraction, or a longing - it was merely a collection of thoughts laced together with a slight ripple that erupted whenever his memory crossed her laugh. His secret was not a secret, yet he still felt obliged to dart his eyes from one side of the room to the next, a desperate plea to find solace for their covetous pupils. His secret was not a feeling, but a thought of what may have been or what may be in time, and if he would favour that future or if the admittance to this would liberate a relationship too effortless to live without.
His relationship was not a love, any evidence of which in his generation had been diluted, leaving behind a concoction of hormones and uncertain wishes. His relationship was not a loss, despite an unexpressed aversion to the culture of exclusive romances and austere liasons. His relationship was not insignificant; within it lay an ability to express any anxieties or apprehending without apprehension or anxiety. His relationship was not a secret, but rather a well-accepted fact amongst others.
His thoughts were inconstant, yet frequent - their content forever wavering in reason and , immediately after, excuse. His thoughts were unexplained and unprovoked, but undeniable. His thoughts intrigued him, simultaneously inflicting a new found sense of fear when he passed her desk. His thoughts were of her, unique in manner and mold; of her rouge lips, of her fidgets and frowns, of the way the small of her back may feel when grazing the bark of a nearby tree outside his office window.
His thoughts were just thoughts. His day was just another day. His relationship was just ‘Tom and Emma, colleagues’. His secret was unknown.
His secret was not an attraction, or a longing - it was merely a collection of thoughts laced together with a slight ripple that erupted whenever his memory crossed her laugh. His secret was not a secret, yet he still felt obliged to dart his eyes from one side of the room to the next, a desperate plea to find solace for their covetous pupils. His secret was not a feeling, but a thought of what may have been or what may be in time, and if he would favour that future or if the admittance to this would liberate a relationship too effortless to live without.
His relationship was not a love, any evidence of which in his generation had been diluted, leaving behind a concoction of hormones and uncertain wishes. His relationship was not a loss, despite an unexpressed aversion to the culture of exclusive romances and austere liasons. His relationship was not insignificant; within it lay an ability to express any anxieties or apprehending without apprehension or anxiety. His relationship was not a secret, but rather a well-accepted fact amongst others.
His thoughts were inconstant, yet frequent - their content forever wavering in reason and , immediately after, excuse. His thoughts were unexplained and unprovoked, but undeniable. His thoughts intrigued him, simultaneously inflicting a new found sense of fear when he passed her desk. His thoughts were of her, unique in manner and mold; of her rouge lips, of her fidgets and frowns, of the way the small of her back may feel when grazing the bark of a nearby tree outside his office window.
His thoughts were just thoughts. His day was just another day. His relationship was just ‘Tom and Emma, colleagues’. His secret was unknown.
♠ ♠ ♠
I might extend this into a story - what do you think? I have a few ideas, darlings ;)