My bosom friend and I share a different kind of love.
For starters, she is vigorous and awfully pretty. Her glossy black hair is often pushed by a scarlet headband. The shape of her face is a perfect oval – one that is exact for a doll. Her smile is precisely attractive and I have always wanted to kiss her incredibly soft lips.
She is extremely popular at school. Boys flaunt before she and girls worship her like a goddess. She can slay her arithmetic very well and write literature like she was born for it. The teachers admire her.
We rarely talk. Mostly, we spend our time together in the lady's comfort room. We would fix ourselves together in unison and smile as we identically pulled off a beauty. She would stare at me with ravishing awe and then we would exchange bittersweet smiles.
Sometimes, she would look into my eyes during class hours. It was our little secret. Our eyes were exceptionally the same – black as raven’s wings. Other times, we would exchange looks in front of the glass windows.
Being with her after class was the most special kind of moment. We would spend the night in her bedroom doing dress-up and practicing fancy speeches like English girls. She would put on lovely pink pajamas and I would do the same. Oftentimes, we would sing beautiful indie songs about loss and life in front of each other.
This type of connection with her made me realize that I love her. It was not that kind of love like how my mother looks at my father. It was greater than that.
Ever since we were little girls, I have always wanted to be with her. It was my dream to hold her hands, embrace her with my arms and kiss her lips. Once, she told me she was also dying to do the same.
One night, we were looking deeply into each other’s gaze when we heard the lovely music of our heartbeats. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. I wanted to kiss her at that instant.
I leaned forward and she did the same. I closed my eyes knowing she closed hers too. We kissed – but I did not feel the softness of her lips. She somehow smelled and tasted like face powder. Maybe I smelled and tasted like face powder.
She picked me up and wrapped her arms around me. I guess I did too. We stayed like this for some time when her mother suddenly knocked at the door and she dropped me. To her surprise, I was broken into smithereens.
She picked my fragments up using her soft bare hands with such horrid haste. Her mother opened the door and saw blood on her hands. She has pulled away from the fragments bursting into a cry. She managed to grab a piece of me and held it so tightly. Blood came rushing out of her palms until we both collapsed.
It was painful seeing her that way; however, I was happy she held into me so tightly. During that time, I had come to a realization that she, too, love me. She loves me the same way I love her.
She woke up on her bed with a hint of derangement. When she realized I was nowhere to be found, she rushed to the bathroom mirror to find me. I was there. Both our right hands were bandaged.
I looked at her. She was so beautiful. She looked at me. I was so beautiful. I kissed her and she kissed me. Hell, we both smelled and tasted like toothpaste.
We know our love for each other is greater than how much my mother looks at my father. Our relationship is far deeper, far bigger than any other love. It is a different kind of love only she, my bosom friend, and I share.
It is a love so secret yet so beautiful.
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Interesting read and it is a good story. I like how you vividly describe each moment. It is melodramatic. It was like a lovely love letter but in a story form. Did you published the short story before? I found a copy from Today's Carolinian.
Note: Author verified.
I joined a literary contest with Today's before with this entry. I guess they published it? May I ask where you saw it?
A published online copy of the Today's Carolinian (click here). Thanks for verifying. I am happy to recommend for discovery-it curation.
Oh wow, thanks a lot. I'm pretty new to Hive, and I'm loving the supportive community already.
Glad to hear that. Yeah, the hive community is great. I can attest to that. Continue writing and learning #Hive. Enjoy a piece of !PIZZA.
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Thank you for the review. That meant a lot.
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wow, very interesting that you awake my mind while reading and I love how its written
Thank you! That was my intention. I'm glad it worked your brain. :)
honestly it did
Beautiful.
Love is amazing.
Finding joy and peace around a peoson is a great thing.
This is a nice story, @eudadol. However, we do not accept stories that are published elsewhere. We only accept and curate 100% unique, original fiction. You are welcome to bring us more of your work, but ensure that it is only published in The Ink Well. Thank you. Please read our community rules. Everything is explained there. We do understand everyone makes mistakes.
Also, a tip for you. You might want to find other words besides "beautiful" to describe love and attraction. This tends to be an over-used word that loses its meaning. You've got multiple instances in your story. Consider this: would you use the word "ugly" without qualifying it with further explanation? A description is typically much more powerful than a subjective word. Good luck and keep writing.
Oh, I'm sorry about that. I might have overlooked it. I'm typically new to Hive.
Wow, thanks a lot for the constructive comments. I do tend to overuse the word beautiful. Concretizing it into descriptions do help a lot, indeed. Thank you so much!
Beautiful story of the truest love! Some people don't understand the love of people for themselves, but it is real, beautiful and necessary. Well written, @eudadol!
A true story of love in it's purest form. That is love for one's self, which transcends any other form of love.
You write this story beautifully and deliver your message straight up.
I am glad i read it.
It's how you make me picture her as I read through.
Your play with words and description is admirable.
Nice, nice..