#unkissed

Oneshot • Rated E • 4K words • Read on AO3

“So, uh, I’m off,” Shane says from the other room. Ilya can hear his steps heading towards the door. Ilya remains in the bed, undressed and unmoved, staring blankly at the wall. “Goodbye, Hollander,” is all he can say. Ilya hears the door click shut. It didn’t even slam. It closed softly. Almost makes it worse. A few words and a soft click, and Hollander is gone. “Fuuuck,” Ilya groans, teeth almost biting into the filter of his cigarette. We didn’t even kiss, Ilya thinks as he lets his head fall back against the headboard.

My lips are clay, for centuries unkissed. I thought middle age would not pass so quickly. Time is cruel. I look in the mirror. Now the word cruel scares me.

My ambition was once to write the starlit poems of our age, our final words, which in any case are just graffiti from here on out, yesteryear straight through to the afterlife (though wasn't the middle part supposed to be longer?).

I wanted words to contain consciousness, so I was a child until I was old.

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Mask of a Maiden

Chase Twichell  (B.1950)

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I am 16 and unkissed.

I am 16 and lying on the floor with my knees hooked over the edge of my bed, staring up at my fan.

I am 16 and breathless, watching meteors streak across the sky and leave trails of light behind them.

I am 16 and walking with my friends, trying to keep pace but always going too fast or being left behind.

I am 16 and missing my dog, missing my grandad, missing my best friend, missing myself.

I am 16 and loved, supported, valued. I know this. I am 16 and I know this.

I am 16 and unheld. I am 16 and un-beheld.