#satanfm

THE HOUR JUST SEEMS TO BE GETTING LATER AND LATER, Jordan finds himself sprawled out on his couch, Bear crawling into his lap, somehow both a reminder and a relief to his OWN inhibitions. There’s a letter on the other side of the couch that he knows he had NO RIGHT opening, but when your fiance ( ? ? ) runs back to her ex in tears after reading it       what ELSE would flood his conscience ? ? When the door clicks open, he can’t decide if he regrets or is BETTER for reading it. He looks up, and it doesn’t take more than a second to read her ( he’s had plenty practice ). She’s sad      BUT SO IS HE, yes, he’s SAD. Drenched in melancholy at the one feeling he’s NEVER been able to ignore, and she’s always known how to make him feel it. “So you went to Ivy’s ? ?” he asked, but not really asking. He picks up the letter and looks at it, not meeting her eyes. “We’re getting married and you still love her, huh ? ?” THAT’S THE FEELING, too bad hers belongs to the wrong person now.

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jordan: hey whats up?

It seemed like the essence of SUMMER  t i p t o e d  into their lives through island breezes that swept much of their clothes away too. He’s got MANNERS, but he’s got eyes too. Bora Bora breeds nature, sunshine m e l t s popsicles and sunscreen off. There’s a BIG warning sign in the cortex of his brain      friends, friends, FRIENDS. THEIR mutual choice over dinner; GRATING their feeling down with the parmesan, the same way his dentist told him to stop doing at night when he sleeps. A habit built out of nerves, out of ANXIETY for the future ( because what CHILD can expected to handle that ? ? ). He stopped late high school, but lately things have felt a lot like HISTORY      both the CLASS and his own. It’s TEXTBOOK romantic comedy, he thinks; except he knows fundamentally that those are ROMANTICISED beyond reality’s grasp. 

So in an effort to be FRIENDS ( yes, F R I E N D S ), Jordan catches the brief PASSING moment where they cross paths. His hand swishes through his hair, the headband leaving it draping over his forehead, some semblance of casually cool, ready for the summer. “Are you heading to the beach ? ?” He asks as if it wasn’t obvious. His eyes scanned over the area’s scenery instead of her ( he figured she’d get too much satisfaction if he stayed stuck on her ), the world a little more golden in yellow tinted aviators. “Me too.” HE BARELY SHRUGGED, like it’s a thoughtless suggestion. He didn’t really wait for her response before he said it, not really giving her a chance to say NO or claim other plans       maybe he didn’t want to hear it.

@satanfm​ .