Because of Nate

Summer

 

i can see him looking at me,
and my first instinct is to look far, far away.
But I fight it, and stare straight into his eyes until i can't take the heat anymore.
I wonder as i look at the floor to rest my eyes from the intensity; how many of the children can understand what we're starting,
with our gaze,
in the dark.
There's a candle,
and a cross in the corner,
which reminds me that I'm not supposed to be doing this, but then i look up again,
 

and forget.

And later, there is music, but i'm not listening,
and even later, I can't hear the music anymore, not over my own screams, and the cross in the corner stares at me with sadness.
everyone else can only hear the music, because that's all they want to hear.
He was a nice, polite Christian, 17 to my 14, and a virgin to top that.
I think in statistics, which say that now he's only 2 out of 3.
And it hurts so good, and later, I think i'm okay, i'm just tired, so tired.
 I need to rest.
Mom, innocent Mom, asks what i am doing in bed in the middle of the day- am i sick?
and i answer, "no, I'm just tired."

I lie.