brannagh

Oh that red beretta. What else in the world could I have wanted so bad at sixteen? He was so damn troubled, and I was convinced I would save him. I honestly could live in that moment forever. Pure euphoria. He walks into the room right, and I am lying on the bed staring at the wall. I want to know so much more about him, but I can't even bring myself to look him in the eyes. If I did, he would've been able to see right through my rebel act. He didn't say anything, just closed the door behind him and sat down. He didn't say anything, just turned on Pink Floyd's "wish you were here." I fell in love with that song. He hands me a joint and says, "I can play this on bass guitar." As soon as he said that I could feel my gaurd drop, and knew i was in dangerous territory. "I think about you." He says to me with a look that's crossed between a devious child and confused man. "I know." Just like that! I know? That's all I could say? That was the truth though. He brought it out of me that quickly. No witty remarks, no sarcastic comment, just "I know", because I knew. Fast forward to driving home from a party. Red beretta, rainstorm, Journey is playing on his broken radio. he pulls over, throws me in the backseat, and fucked my soul. His sunroof was open the entire time with the rain pouring in on us. I had no shame, not with him. It wasn't about going against authority, or rebeling, it was purely about feeling him. His entire being inside of every part of me. I loved him once. He taught me how to make love.