I wrote this and posted it on the the Unruly Muses' forum and one amazing writer, Primrose had asked about the beginnings. I challenged her to write a prequel and this beautiful story was born.

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“What do you see in her?” They were always asking him.

“She’s very intense.”

“I just want to be sure you’re happy…”

“Don’t you think she’s a little…standoffish?”

He’s heard them all, and the truth is, he gets it. Sometimes he wonders why he sticks around himself. He knows why. He asked her out the second time because she was interesting, and complicated enough to make him want to know her better. They went to a little coffee shop just to talk, and she had already let him know that she was expecting him to come back to her place, no strings and no complications. It was a shop she’d never been to, and she’d ordered some complicated thing he couldn’t repeat to save himself. She had been in the middle of an angry monologue of something political when the drink arrived. It had an amazing amount of whipped cream, he remembered. She broke off her discourse, as they placed the coffee in front of her, and her face lit up with an expression of absolute delight. She forgot about her argument as she looked up at him, “I’m not sure how to start drinking it!” She gave a small laugh, her smile, for a brief moment, bright and beautiful.

He could still see it. In the short time he’d known her; he’d seen that look of sweet and uncomplicated joy only a few times. She hid it quickly, but he knew it was there. Every time he saw it, he fell in love with her again. He could spend a lifetime trying to bring that smile back to her face. It was worth it.

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Thank you so much, Primrose.

If you love to write (poems, short stories, lyrics, fanfiction, original stories, non-fiction) or if you have the talent to draw, hop on over to the Unruly Muses' forum.

I've had the privilege to meet an amazing woman through this blog. She's a wonderful writer and a very wonderful woman who has taught me how to "glomp" on MSN.

I've gotten another privilege to read her work and I have twisted her arm to allow me to post it here.

Ladies and Gents, I present Schelz Paul:

He knows

Looking down at her he knows, knows as she stands in front of him, underneath him with her head tilted upwards that if he kisses her it will never end, her eyes are closed tight and she’s gripping his grey tee.

And he knows, knows how much she loves him, her loud heart beat, her quickened breathing and the slight sweat he notes beading her forehead tells him so, but if he ever tells her she makes him ache it will never end.

He knows he loves her back, he knows he loved her so damn much that it hurt once and still does, he loves her now, again, loves her fiercely, infinitely and whole-heartedly. He’s still watching her wait for him, teeth grazing nervously over her bottom lip, he swallows hard and clams his teeth together; he can’t say it back, he’s doing it for both of them. If he admits it to her, if he admits to himself, it will never end.

He knows; knows that he’s not as strong as before. He fights a cold war, a battle within not to touch her back, not to like the feel of her skin beneath his but she craves it and he craves the craving of him but if he allows himself to crave her back, it will never end.

He knows she’ll be the death of him, he knows, he can’t take the colour of her eyes; he falls right through them into her darkness and can’t make his way back to the light without hurting her. Tears escape her eyes, wetting her eyelashes as they cascade down her face but he prays she keeps them shut, because if he falls it will never end.

He knows; knows that if she opens her mouth he’ll fall.

He knows; knows that if words escape them, broken words, he’ll fall hard.

He knows; knows that if she asks him the question he won’t recover as fast.

He knows; knows that if he doesn’t walk now, it may never end.

She sighs and opens her eyes and his heart stops, he wants to scream at her for being so selfish, for making him consume her, fall for her, devour her, crave her and love her until he loses breath. He wants to yell at her for stealing his emotions from him, for taking everything and never giving the same amount back, nothing but her love. It’s not enough.

Her orangey brown eyes are torturously dewy and he melts.

Now he knows, knows that she’s going to defeat him.

“Don’t you love you me anymore?” She cries, wiping the snot from her nose with her sleeve.

He hates that he loves her, he loves that he hates that he loves her, it’s the way they work. Without a spoken word, he cups the back of her neck and kisses her so hard that it hurts; he can’t say it back but as she giggles joyously into his mouth he knows, knows that she’s got what she wanted.

She’ll never let him go, and he thinks he might not want her to.