Tags: bad_movies_sunny_afternoons

MISC; more to life than books you know

(no subject)

[Melodrama; 113 words]

Bad movies on sunny afternoons, shrieking along with melodramatic Mary-Jane and harbouring secret crushes on surly Seth (who must be oh so very soft and delicate under that big talk), curled up on the sofa together with a picnic of crisps and chocolate bars. That's what I remember when I think of you. Our fifteenth summer seemed endless, somehow, and I suppose neither of us were prepared for it to end so suddenly.

I know you must miss me too, even if it has been two years and neither of us have come running back home again. I suppose we aren't the stuff of cheap convenient endings, no matter how many we've seen.
LZ spring fling shoot

(no subject)

bad movies on sunday afternoons,
dreaming of rockets & distant moons.
wondering when my dreamboat will come,
sucking the juice from a ripe, red plum.

in this manner i spend my days,
spread-eagle on the couch with a bag of lays.
fantasizing about what may be,
the "real" world swirling all around me.

juice dribbles down my lower lip,
a girl on the screen from a cosmo sips.
the right girl walks through my door,
& i don't dream of moons anymore.

bad movies on sunny afternoons

it's konstant kaos,watered down so you can take the loud scenes flashing in front of your once innocent eyes. you can't change the channel; the remote is lost, buried between those dark wedges in the scratchy green upholstry, shoved under the couch with piles of old dirty socks and empty salt-filled mcdonald's wrappers. you pick at balls of lint, rubbing the knotted fabric over your fingertips.

you don't like this show - mtv, vh1, tnt - you don't like it. you like action. fast-paced, boom bang wow.
you're not amazed.

you can't change the channel, the remote is lost.
you can't even cry. this isn't real. the box of tissues sits on the coffee table next to an ashtray full of half-smoked marlboro lights. you take a hit, breathe in that nicotene dream. and lines of light filter in through the yellowed window panes.

this is what's real.
it's bad movies on sunny afternoons;
so close your eyes, you don't like this.

bad movies on sunny afternoons

Bad movies on sunny afternoons
a recovering alcoholic's
chair sits in the living room
a plush velvet recliner
that holds the stale smell
of cigarettes
and worse.
"this room never gets good light"
you tell your daughter
(whose face is shadowed
despite the mid afternoon summer sun)
you grew up here
you became bitter here.
your skin became bruised and hard
from the blows only a drunk
father could give.
but
you've left home to heal.
your skin is softer now
older and with a daughter.
he watches television silently
in the corner
without his whiskey.
the flickering light of the old television
casts light on his worn face
highlighting the tired places
the sinister places
that only you can notice,
that years of sobriety
just can't fix.

Bad movies on sunny afternoons...

Just you and I..
And the T.V.
We sat together. You, so shy at first, wouldn't even look at me. But, eventually, you came to me. You wrapped your arms around me, and held me. Your fingers traced my hands, each line made causing shivers down my spine, causing me to melt into you. You kissed the back of my head when you thought I wasn't paying attention and was actually watching the movie, but you missed my content smile. Of course I felt your soft lips on my head. When I turned around, and looked into your eyes.. it was heaven. When we stared at each other, no words needed to be spoken, our thoughts were telepathically conveyed to each other. I didn't even notice the movie. Who was in it? Then again, who really cares?
Forget bad movies on sunny afternoons. The only thing worth watching is you and I.

<3
she was gone with autumn (sweetheart), 47

For the last time, read the mod-post. Thank you.

Bad movies on sunny afternoons
— — —
There is always a day-after sensation that you get once you leave the person you spent the day with. The various things that you could've, should've said, or done. A movement of the hand, not looking at the time, not reclining against the bed, not staring at the ceiling, etc. There is always this thing, I wonder if I'm alone.
    No matter how many complaints I have overall, you know, the movie wasn't that-that bad. No matter how hard I tried to pay for my ticket, I'm appreciative that you paid for it. Even feminists need to love, you know. Even those of us who don't shave our legs more than once a week, or at all, need somebody who love us regardless of such.
    Your voice becomes more accurate in my head, when I think of you. It takes such a long time for someone's voice to sound correct in my head. Your eyebrows more definite, and hands a bit easier to recall. You're really just the sketch I've made of you in my head, nothing more. Still, the Spring sunlight coming through the car window made you look different than I make you up to be. Somehow, I guess, we must all look different in shades of light. Different than we think we look, of course.
roar!, 40

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As of 4.16.04
Bad movies on sunny afternoons

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