17. Wish I didn’t love you.

He caressed her skin, soft and smooth. Traced his fingers along her hipbone, made her moan. Kissing her lips again, deranged. He wanted her, he craved for her, he loved her. A deep breath. A long sigh.

It was gone. Silence.

He blinked. Nothing. She wasn’t there, he was all alone. He stared at the ceiling, his breath heavy, sweat beads forming on his forehead. All that happened, everything that happened, all gone. She was gone. He shivered. The thought. The things she did to him, the things she made him do. It was all imagination. How much he wanted her.

Click

Click

Click

The pictures formed, beautiful, perfect. Because to him, only pictures were perfect. They were perfect because they show both sides of the story. Both sides of events. He loved that, he loved discovering how simple things that he took could mean so much. Things that have little meaning can tell great and mighty stories. Because pictures, photographs, they are creativity at it’s best. Imagination wide and broad.

He sat at a local café, going through his day’s work, content. And then looking up, he saw her. She sat two tables in front of him, he saw the beauty that had caught his heart one too many times. Left him breathless, insane. The only thing deemed more perfect than photographs, her. To feel her, he wanted her, he loved her.

Her soft curls ran over her bare shoulders, so nicely neat. A white sundress fitted her figure perfectly. She had a book opened in front of her, she read intently. Then she slammed it shut.

A young man arrived, a soft smile on his face, greeting her with a kiss. It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss. He occupied the seat in front of her, they began laughing. And he took her hand in his, he gave a soft peck and smiled once again. She beamed brushing away the strands of hair that covered his kholed eyes.

He stood up, gathering his things. He gave a last glance before he left, he saw her watch him, he saw her companion watching her. Walking off, he gave a sigh. He took a sip of his coffee, setting his merchandise down on the ground. He sat himself on the beam that surrounded the small fountain and revised his captured memories once again.

flip

He fingered the screen, lightly caressing it with his thumb. The image displayed; her. She wore a sundress, accompanied with both sunglasses and a sunhat. She was seen strolling down the beach, the sun setting behind her. That was the first motion he captured of her, he loved it. They bumped into each other on many occasions after that, it was only her that didn’t realise him. He was the one who was captivated by her divine beauty. And fell in love.

And he knew he couldn’t have her. He will never have her. Because after all this time, he had only been in love from a distance. And he wished he didn’t love her. Because it hurts.

17. Wish I didn’t love you.

He caressed her skin, soft and smooth. Traced his fingers along her hipbone, made her moan. Kissing her lips again, deranged. He wanted her, he craved for her, he loved her. A deep breath. A long sigh.

It was gone. Silence.

He blinked. Nothing. She wasn’t there, he was all alone. He stared at the ceiling, his breath heavy, sweat beads forming on his forehead. All that happened, everything that happened, all gone. She was gone. He shivered. The thought. The things she did to him, the things she made him do. It was all imagination. How much he wanted her.

Click

Click

Click

The pictures formed, beautiful, perfect. Because to him, only pictures were perfect. They were perfect because they show both sides of the story. Both sides of events. He loved that, he loved discovering how simple things that he took could mean so much. Things that have little meaning can tell great and mighty stories. Because pictures, photographs, they are creativity at it’s best. Imagination wide and broad.

He sat at a local café, going through his day’s work, content. And then looking up, he saw her. She sat two tables in front of him, he saw the beauty that had caught his heart one too many times. Left him breathless, insane. The only thing deemed more perfect than photographs, her. To feel her, he wanted her, he loved her.

Her soft curls ran over her bare shoulders, so nicely neat. A white sundress fitted her figure perfectly. She had a book opened in front of her, she read intently. Then she slammed it shut.

A young man arrived, a soft smile on his face, greeting her with a kiss. It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss. He occupied the seat in front of her, they began laughing. And he took her hand in his, he gave a soft peck and smiled once again. She beamed brushing away the strands of hair that covered his kholed eyes.

He stood up, gathering his things. He gave a last glance before he left, he saw her watch him, he saw her companion watching her. Walking off, he gave a sigh. He took a sip of his coffee, setting his merchandise down on the ground. He sat himself on the beam that surrounded the small fountain and revised his captured memories once again.

flip

He fingered the screen, lightly caressing it with his thumb. The image displayed; her. She wore a sundress, accompanied with both sunglasses and a sunhat. She was seen strolling down the beach, the sun setting behind her. That was the first motion he captured of her, he loved it. They bumped into each other on many occasions after that, it was only her that didn’t realise him. He was the one who was captivated by her divine beauty. And fell in love.

And he knew he couldn’t have her. He will never have her. Because after all this time, he had only been in love from a distance. And he wished he didn’t love her. Because it hurts.